


Safer Grounds

by juucbox



Category: Sleepy Hollow (1999)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, choose your own hessian, no Katrina hate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7009093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juucbox/pseuds/juucbox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ichabod Crane decides to rebury the headless horseman's remains, he discovers that the Hessian isn't quite gone after all. Determined as ever to save the town of Sleepy Hollow, Ichabod now sets to solving this latest mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The grave smelled not just of earth, but faintly of something rotten, something evil. Ichabod pursed his lips. No matter how much he insisted, the townspeople of Sleepy Hollow adamantly refused to provide any assistance at all. He gripped his shovel tighter. Wishing that young Masbath was here was selfish and cowardly but the constable couldn't help it. Besides, this was not a one-man job. 

He briefly considered deepening the shallow grave but decided against it. That would likely take him until nightfall to finish, as it was already past noon, and animals were unlikely to disturb clean bones. He arranged the hessian's skull and sword in a way he thought looked neat and respectful, then started filling the grave. It would be a disservice to leave the grave as it was, exposed and unprotected from others who may seek the horseman's bones. It only seemed proper to give the man a burial of sorts. For he was a man, at one time. Maybe not a good man but a man all the same. Ichabod began shoveling the loose dirt back into the makeshift grave. This was harder work than he had expected and he had to take several breaks. He wasn't used to any physical labor, and he was embarrassingly and easily exhausted. His wounded shoulder smarted after every shovelful of earth.

Ichabod had grossly miscalculated just how long filling the grave would take him. He realized with a start that it was already dusk. The man immediately looked around for his borrowed horse Gunpowder, only to find him missing. Because, of course, he realized now—he had forgotten to tie him. 

"Hopefully he hasn't wandered far," he thought. Being out in the woods after dark was something he desperately did not want. "How exactly does one find a horse?" 

Whistling sharply, Ichabod made his way slowly into the wood, hoping he found him just out of sight in the clearing, enjoying some vegetation. He hadn't brought any sort of lantern with him as he didn't expect to be out in the night. "Foolish," he chastised himself out loud. "Foolish to to lose track of the time in the first place."

The light was fading fast and he still hadn't found the horse. He was starting to panic slightly as he noticed that he seemed to be lost. 

He jumped as an owl hooted suddenly from somewhere above him, causing him to trip on a root and nearly fall. Katrina must have noticed that he was gone by now. How humiliating it would be if a search party was sent out, expecting to find Ichabod dispatched by the horseman only to find him wandering circles, helpless in the dark. 

Stumbling over the underbrush, Ichabod finally spotted Gunpowder, who had decided to settle down for the night in a bed of ivy. Relieved, the young man headed for the horse only to come to a stop as Gunpowder snorted and climbed to his feet. He let out a sharp whinny and bolted into the trees. 

Ichabod stared after him, bewildered. Had he startled him? He didn't think he had been rushing at him and he’d never been this skittish with him before. 

And then Ichabod heard first the sound of a horse's telltale heavy breathing directly behind him, then hooves crunching leaves. He felt hot breath on the back of his neck as the beast let out a snort. A spike of fear shot through him before he realized that, of course, it was just one of the townsmen come looking for him. He turned slowly, the edge of his fear not completely gone. 

That was not a townsperson at all. 

He drew in a breath, stumbling backward and bracing himself on a tree as he fought to stay conscious. The Hessian sat abroad his steed in front of him, quietly and impassively watching him. 

"Was machst du hier?" 

\---

The horseman’s grave was being disturbed again and it had been for hours. Furious, the Hessian mounted Daredevil and waited impatiently for night to fall so he could be free of the tree and end the life of the one who dared lay a hand on his bones. He took the reins into his gloved hand hard enough to make the leather creak and prepared to send the beast through the gateway to the mortal world when he stopped, tilting his head upward and focusing on the being above him. This person felt familiar, felt like that boy who had wrest his skull from the witch. Something was strange about what the boy was doing, it felt as though... Oh. He was being buried. 

It didn’t seem as though any magic had been done and his body was whole. What then was this boy’s game? 

He had moved away by the time the Hessian was able to leave but was easily found. The boy was making quite a mess as he trudged along, breaking branches and leaving deep footprints in the mud. Edging Daredevil directly behind him, the ghost considered speaking, which was something he hadn't done since he was living. He focused on remembering speech as he watched the boy flail about, almost falling before grabbing onto a tree. For someone who had managed to survive him, the boy seemed terribly hopeless. 

The young man, if he could truly be called a man, turned and came face-to-snout with Daredevil. It was interesting, finally being able to see him with actual eyes. The worst part of the curse, besides the forced servitude, was navigating using only otherworldly senses. It has never slowed him down, but he has missed being able to see.

This boy was not what the Hessian had expected, given that he had led him on a merry chase and had outlived anyone he had set out to kill as a man or a spector. He was tall but not imposing in the slightest, with a head full of dark hair and awkward limbs. The boy was pretty, he noted in amusement; he looked more like a woman then some of the women that he had come across.

But there was the matter of his grave to attend to. 

"Was machst du hier?" 

No, that wasn't right. English, he needed to speak English. The Hessian furrowed his brow slightly as he groped for the words. "Why are you here?" he amended in a heavily accented rough voice. 

"What are you doing here? I thought, that is I assumed, that you were banished down to—pardon, I meant that you were free." The boy cringed. 

The horseman understood the boy's meaning perfectly even though he did not recognize some of the words themselves. He experienced an understanding of the whole, the meaning of the boy's words plain as day in the Hessian's mind. It was an interesting byproduct of being dead and, he decided, was unpleasant.

"Mine forest." Unfortunately this understanding did not extend to his own speech. Frustrated, he corrected himself: "My forest."

"Well," was the meek response.

It seemed as though words were started to fail the boy. No matter, he would just have to start their “conversation.” The ghost grinned, exposing his teeth, filed and sharpened. "Will see if I kill you. I don't know. Tell me why should I not kill?"

\---

"Will see if I kill you. I don't know. Tell me why should I not kill?"

"Oh, please don't," Ichabod replied stupidly, sitting heavily on the ground no longer able to stand upright.

The constable closed his eyes and fought his tunneling vision.

"That is not good reason. But I don't kill you. You are smart to have helped me, you can live today." The ghost's English seemed to be improving. 

‘He must not have used it in a great while,’ Ichabod thought absently. Outloud, still fighting off his fighting spell, he said, "Thank you."

But Ichabod wasn't completely convinced that he would survive the night. "May I take my leave, then?"

"Yes."

Ichabod didn't give it a second thought and ran into the wood, praying that the horseman didn't change his mind. 

His left foot caught a hole in the ground stopping him painfully in his tracks. Ichabod fell, his foot twisting. Hot pain shot up from his ankle. He lay on his front, gasping for breath before flipping himself over. He sat, gingerly investigating his foot. He ran his fingers over it and cringed. Definitely sprained then.

Ichabod desperately whistled for Gunpowder again, even though he still wasn’t sure if that was how you called for a horse. He couldn't walk on his ankle and Gunpowder was really his only hope of leaving this wood tonight. If the horse didn't come the man would have to spend the night in the forest with a murderous ghost.

Suddenly the sound of hoof beats broke the silence. Ichabod froze and turned toward the noise. It was the horseman, surely.

Gunpowder strolled out of the trees. 

Ichabod could cry. 

After a frustrating amount of time Ichabod finally coaxed the horse to him. He grabbed the reins that had fallen down over his head to prevent him from wandering off again and was met with a new problem. He couldn't mount the horse with only one good leg. 

Ichabod managed to stand shakily with Gunpowder's passive help, keeping his left foot off the ground as best he could. 

Now to mount the horse.

He tried several different methods, most of which involved attempting to flop himself forward onto the saddle which was decidedly not working. He couldn’t get high enough. There was really no way around it, he was going to have to use his bad foot. Cautiously putting his foot down with a wince, Ichabod steeled himself before settling all his weight on his injured ankle and lurched himself up into the saddle. Gunpowder whinnied at the rough treatment and shook his back. The constable paid him no mind as he sat atop him and waited to be able to breathe again. He fumbled for his reins before giving up and letting them swing free in front of the horse and gripped the pommel instead. He nudged his forward, trusting the horse to make his way back to the village.

\---

Silent, the Hessian tracked the progress of the intruder making his way violently through his forest. The ghost snorted in quiet amusement as he watched the boy nearly snap his ankle clean off. Well, he may not kill the boy but he seemed determined to do it himself. His rage had abated for the moment at least, and he was content to watch the fool try to mount his horse with only one leg. 

The horseman continued to track the boy as he let his horse wander his way back to the edge of the wood, the mare taking several detours, causing the journey to be far longer than it should have been. 

This was likely the last time he would see the boy, he couldn't imagine such a poor excuse of a man venturing into his wood again after tonight. He would be in no real danger, at least not from the Hessian. He would spare this boy who freed him from the witch. The horseman turned Daredevil and set off back into the Western Woods.

\---

The world was blurred around the edges. Ichabod screwed his eyes shut for a moment and opened them to see Katrina Van Tassel hovering above his bed, her soft yellow dress stark against the gray of the sparse room. His ankle was swollen and, he realized, very painful. His whole foot had been wrapped to keep it still. “What happened?”

Katrina helped him sit. “That is what I was wondering as well. You were found unconscious on horseback. It was a miracle that you hadn’t fallen.” 

She sat softly on the bed, laying her hand on Ichabod’s shin. “Your ankle is terribly sprained. Is that why you were lost all night?”

Ichabod didn’t react to her boldness other than opening his mouth to tell her of the demon. “I was, as you know, laying the horseman to rest, but he was still there. The horseman.” He emphasized, shuddering and pulling the blanket closer to himself, “He spoke to me. With words. He told me--he said he wouldn’t kill me that night.” 

The Hessian hadn’t, however, said anything about any nights following. Ichabod’s thoughts were still tinged with panic and the urge to pack up and leave Sleepy Hollow was strong. But, he reminded himself, it was his duty to stay and aid the townsfolk. He couldn’t very well leave them to a murderous ghost, as much as he was tempted.

Ichabod realized he had become lost in his own thoughts and, in the meantime, Katrina had pressed her hand to her chest with a small gasp. “I thought we had vanquished him.”

“It appears not. I do not have any clue as to why, but I am afraid that we cannot leave for New York until this mystery is solved.”

Looking thoroughly disappointed, Katrina nonetheless replied, “Of course we must stay, but what do you propose we do?”

That was actually a very good question and one the constable should have thought of by now. He furrowed his brow. “I could not say. I suppose I will have to ride out to the tree again tomorrow.”

Katrina looked at him as though he was a complete fool with raised eyebrows. “You cannot possibly go out with that ankle. It is swollen terribly.”

Oh. Yes. “Well, I cannot very well wait for it to be healed, not if the horseman may still be in the habit of collecting heads. I cannot just stand by as an invalid while the townspeople are murdered.”

Pursing her lips, the girl seemed to accept Ichabod’s ludicrous plan despite herself. “I will put a spell of protection on you.”

This was something he had meant to speak to her about. “Katrina, you cannot go about saying things of that nature. The townspeople are already turning a blind eye to your… symbol in the church that night, but they won’t ignore it forever.” Plenty of women were still lynched for less. 

“But I did not say it in front of them, I said it to you,” she said, confused. 

She seemed to not have understood that her actions, such as casting spells in her hearth while the rest of her household slept, had been terribly dangerous, especially in a small and sheltered village such as Sleepy Hollow. “You must promise to hide your-- your craft from others.”

The girl frowned. “But I can help. I can help more than the men of the Hollow can with their pistols and swords. Magic has raised him and magic can send him back to whatever hell he came from.” At Ichabod’s unimpressed look, she quickly added, “But, I understand. I will not cast any magic in the presence of others.”

“I will stay on my horse if that helps appease you, but I will set out in the morning and take young Masbeth to accompany me. The horseman cannot seem to leave his grave while it is still light so it will be perfectly safe.”

This seemed to calm Katrina. “But for now you must rest and you must recover, especially if you insist upon venturing out into the Western Woods again.” She stroked the hair out of his face and stood. “If you require anything, call for me, I do not want you putting any weight on that foot of yours.”

She left him with a smile, and Ichabod fell into a deep slumber soon after.


	2. Chapter 2

Now that he had arrived at the tree, Ichabod didn’t quite know what to do. Eventually, after the silence had gone on for several minutes, young Masbath coughed. Too embarrassed to admit he had no plan, Ichabod edged Gunpowder closer to the imposing tree. Lady Van Tassel’s hand was no longer protruding grossly from the trunk, he noted. The appendage had likely been swallowed by the tree as it had opened to let the Hessian through the night before. He shuddered. “Well, the-- the hand is gone,” he pointed out.

Masbath craned his neck to look as he dismounted his mare. “So it has. Is that a bad sign, sir?”

Ichabod shrugged his good shoulder in response. “It is likely of no consequence.” 

Slowly guiding Gunpowder around the tree, he ended up back where he started and ran his hand cautiously along the bark of the gateway. He jerked his hand back as a sharp and thrumming sensation electrified his fingers. He shook the hand, ignoring Masbath’s confused arching of his eyebrows. 

Congealing blood was slowly oozing out of the tree from the wounds he’d caused that night caused by hacking off large sections of its side. Gunpowder didn’t let him stay near the tree for long, snorting unhappily and retreating to the edge of the clearing, taking Ichabod with him. 

This wasn’t working. Ichabod would likely have to get off the horse and hobble his way back to the tree if he truly wanted to investigate. 

He looked over at Masbath, considering. “Young Masbath, I believe I require your aid.”

Masbath didn’t need to be told what the constable needed; he approached quickly and aided Ichabod in dismounting the horse. “Are you sure your ankle will hold, sir?”

Ichabod wasn’t sure at all. “Of course. It will only hinder me slightly.” 

After walking as sturdily as he could back to the tree’s base, Ichabod sat down gratefully on a large exposed root jutting from the earth next to the trunk. His ankle was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, which he could hear loudly in his ears. 

“Should you be sitting there, sir?” Masbath queried. “I mean, on his tree and all.”

Ichabod didn’t hear him. He could feel something vile leeching into him through the tree, the smell of sickness suddenly thick in the back of his throat. Revulsion and cold fear washed over him then, and then he was drowning in it. Masbath’s concerned face shifted out of focus and then he was falling. 

\--

It had taken the boy all but a day to return to the Tree of the Dead. The horseman paused in aggravation and set down his sword and whetstone. Did this fool have a death-wish? 

Focusing his attention upward, the ghost sat quietly, waiting to discover what the boy was doing. Not that the Hessian could have done anything if he wished, trapped by the sunlight and the tree as he was. The Hessian was bound to the tree in his very fiber, forced to obey the rules of the dead. Always aware of its presence, something always hovering in the back of his mind. The Tree of the Dead was his refuge as well as his prison. 

There was another up there as well, younger, with a more innocent soul. Infuriatingly, nothing seemed to be happening. What was the boy doing? Was he just going to hover up there for the rest of the day?

That seemed to be the plan, as he didn’t sense him moving at all. The Hessian resumed the unnecessary sharpening of his blade, keeping most of his attention on the world above. 

\--

It was well into the night when Ichabod looked up from his book to find Katrina sitting in the old-fashioned chair by the window. He hadn’t noticed her approach. He politely closed the book and cleared his throat. “Katrina, you should be in bed at this hour.”

“The same could be said of you. You have been reading ever since you returned from that cursed tree, fainted. You must rest sometime.” 

He shook his head, frustrated at how unfruitful his second trip to the Tree of the Dead had been. “I cannot rest, not while the horseman still rides for reasons unknown. You must understand, Katrina, it is my duty as a constable. I have rested enough today.”

“Then I shall help you.” Katrina picked up what could barely be described as a pamphlet, as small as it was, just one broadsheet folded over on itself several times, covered in small writing and runic symbols. 

It was one that Ichabod had already read through, but that was no matter. He could use a fresh pair of eyes. He had piled on a parlor table all of his books, a pitifully small stack with equally pitifully small books. Literature on witchcraft and the supernatural was not at all common, and the Van Tassel estate was the only place they could be found in the village. 

They sat together for awhile, both with their respective books. Katrina seemed to be only half focused, however, as Ichabod frequently caught her staring over the pages at him. “I have been thinking on New York…,” the young woman began, abandoning the pretext of reading altogether. 

Ichabod lowered his book for a second time, running his thumb over the gilded words of the cover and avoiding her gaze. “Yes?” he asked, unsurprised by the change in topic. His thumb caught the bullet hole in the cover and stayed there. 

Katrina had been finding ways to insert New York into nearly every conversation. Ichabod felt horribly guilty, making her wait, but he refused to leave until the matter at hand was solved and the town deemed safe. 

“You still have not said if we will be marrying in New York or if you mean to wed me here before we leave.”

Ichabod choked, the book that had saved his life tumbling to the floor. He met Katrina’s concerned gaze and wondered how he had never realized that of course he would be marrying her. He was taking her with him to New York for God’s sake. 

He couldn’t find any words for several long seconds. “Well, I-- is that the horseman?”

It sounded like an absurd distraction, and it did take Katrina a moment to realize he wasn’t being facetious: it was true, the Hessian was sitting astride the demon horse Daredevil just outside the fence. ‘That is polite of him,’ Ichabod thought hysterically, ‘he could have just as easily stormed the house.’ 

Standing together, the two rushed over to the window, Ichabod’s hand on the small of Katrina’s back for his comfort as much as hers. “Well. It seems the horseman has decided to come for me after all,” he mused mostly to himself. 

“He cannot enter. I have bewitched the house to prevent evil from entering,” she informed him confidently. 

The constable couldn’t help but doubt her. He had still seen no actual evidence of her spells having any sort of effect, though she had cast many. He couldn’t say as much, not without hurting her and starting an argument. “Even so, I’d rather not see him just outside. Or at all.” 

The three stared at each other motionlessly for well over a minute. “What does he want?” Ichabod wondered aloud, finally taking his shaking hand off of Katrina’s back and defiantly pushing the window open. “What do you want?” He called out and immediately regretted his brashness. 

Daredevil reared in response as the Hessian turned and drove him back toward the Western Woods, parting the mist around them as they rode. 

Ichabod retrieved his coat. 

\---

Daredevil paced in place impatiently as the Hessian stared back at the boy and his pretty little witch. 

It had taken but a few hours before the ghost realized something wasn’t right. He didn’t understand it, but the tree felt wrong. He had placed a bare palm against its smooth insides and closed his eyes. The heartbeat had slowed, the tree’s blood sluggish and thick with some sickness. 

The damned boy must have worked some magic against him. He was a fool to have spared him. He would not make the same mistake again, but he would first need the boy to reverse whatever spell he had cast. 

The girl had cast some spell around the house to keep him at bay. It was weak and it would be nothing to push past but he would prefer for the boy to come to him. Confident that he would once the boy flung open the window and shouted a question at him, the Hessian drove Daredevil back into the tree line. The boy witch must think himself safe with his magics or he would not be disturbing the Tree of the Dead so recklessly. 

Having returned to the tree, the ghost dismounted and waited for the boy to appear 

As soon as the Hessian started to believe that perhaps the boy wasn’t coming, he appeared, cautiously making his way into the clearing atop his poor excuse for a horse. The ghost didn’t wait, striding over to the startled boy and yanking him bodily from the gelding. The boy landed heavily on his bad foot and, in doing so, made a pained noise and boldly, clearly without thinking through the consequences, gripped the Hessian’s arm as he shifted his weight onto his right foot. 

After a beat, in which the boy’s eyes suddenly widened, horrified, he sprang back,pressing his back against the side of his gray horse. The horseman didn’t let him get far, wrapping an ungloved hand around his throat. He could feel the boy’s pulse through his skin like a frightened bird as he pulled him back toward himself. “I let you live,” he growled into his face, baring his teeth, “and you casting spells on me.” 

Two hands rose to press meekly against the one around the boy’s neck. “I have not, I swear it. Please, I don’t know--” He was cut off as the horseman tightened his grip. 

“Lying.” He pushed the boy away by the neck, causing him to stumble backward, and released his hold on the boy’s tender neck. “Fix or I will kill you.” 

The ghost pulled his dagger from where it rested in its sheath. He showed it to the boy, “Fix now or I will--” he paused, reaching for the words, “peel you.”

The boy collapsed in a dead faint.


	3. Chapter 3

His bed was firmer than he remembered, Ichabod thought lazily as he rolled onto his side with a sigh. What had he been thinking, confronting the horseman? He was quickly becoming reckless, something no one would have ever called him before, least of all himself. His ankle throbbed.

“You fainted like a woman.” 

Ichabod jolted upright at the voice. He wasn’t in his drab room in the Van Tassel estate, he realized. Instead he was in a small room lying on a haphazard bed of furs and the Hessian was sitting on the floor in front of Ichabod, sword across his lap, as imposing as ever. “Where--”

“Tree,” came the abrupt reply. 

“Ah,” Ichabod said, glancing about the room, his curiosity overpowering his fear for the moment. 

The dark walls and floor, made up of intertwining roots, were surprisingly smoother than Ichabod would have thought the inside of a tree would be. There was a fireplace of sorts, the roots receding back into the wall where a fire was burning, although there seemed to be no wood feeding it. There was no time to dwell on the absurdity of that, however, because the hessian was standing suddenly. The fire cast menacing shadows onto the horseman’s face as he stepped forward and loomed over the bedding Ichabod was resting atop of. 

“Fix tree,” the ghost demanded, his sword still unsheathed.

“I can’t.” He cringed and added, “I mean to say, I do not even know what you are talking about, erm-- sir.”

The Hessian stayed silent, seeming decidedly unimpressed. Ichabod scooted as far as he was able from the black boots in front of him. “Please, truthfully I do not. I have no magic, I swear it.”

Just a few days ago Ichabod had been sure he was done with witchcraft and spells, and now here he was, being accused of being a witch by a ghost of all people. An odd sense of calm settled over him, pushing his fear back, the situation too bizarre for his science-based mentality. “How do you know there a curse? What has happened? I am sure I can convince you of my innocence.”

He was not at all sure in the slightest, but the horseman seemed to accept his offer and spoke.“Tree is--,” the horseman waved a hand, clearly frustrated with the language barrier. “Something is wrong. Feels-- not good.” 

Still wary, Ichabod nevertheless wondered if he wasn't beginning to understand, as the putrid feeling that had overtaken him while he had contact with the tree came to the forefront of his mind. “Sickness?” he asked quietly. “Does it feel like some sort of sickness?”

\---

The Hessian could easily break this boy until he had wrung every bit of truth out of him, and he had considered it a moment before dismissing the idea entirely. The boy seemed so earnest as he pleaded at the ghost’s feet, fearful brown eyes locked on his own. He had met plenty of liars during his life, and this boy wasn’t one of them. He was likely being foolish to believe him and it was most assuredly uncharacteristic to do so. It was his weakness, he mused as he looked down at the boy staring up at him from his own bed. A pretty face was known to occasionally stay his hand, and this boy was certainly that. 

“Sickness,” the boy had said, perfectly describing the overall feeling of the tree. 

“Yes,” he replied, surprised that the boy could feel it as well. “If you did not do magic, girl witch did.” 

As far as the ghost understood it, there were only three living people who knew the location of his grave: this boy, the witch, and some child. He had dismissed the child and now the boy as likely culprits. The child was likely inconsequential, as young as he was. Which left the girl. 

“No!” the boy cried as he finally struggled to his feet. “It could not have been. She is innocent of dark magic, I assure you. She has been housing me in her estate and I trust her completely.” 

Cringing, the boy shifted his weight off of his left foot. He seemed to wholeheartedly believe what he was saying, but it didn’t sway the Hessian. 

“Not you, then the witch. She will die.” 

The boy actually shook a finger at him. “Now, listen here, I am a constable of the law-- Constable Ichabod Crane, by the way, and, as a man of the law I will not allow ghosts to just go around executing the living.”

Constable Ichabod Crane folded and then unfolded his arms, awkward. 

Amused, the horseman asked, “And you stop me?” 

“I-- I would politely ask you to--,” Ichabod cleared his throat and crossed his arms again, “to refrain from making any snap judgments and allow me to look into the matter.”

It was tempting to humor him. He had been so bored, being dead with no one to have a conversation with. Perhaps he would grant the constable some leniency for the sake of having another soul to speak with. “You will fix the curse in week or I will kill the witch.” He pointed at the makeshift bed, turned, and made his way over to a chest next to the fire. “Sit. Your foot is hurt, I will--” He made a wrapping motion with one hand.

Crane had sat by the time the Hessian had returned with ragged strips of cloth. He knelt and reached out for the startled boy’s foot and gently removed his shoe. The bindings were no longer wrapped properly and he removed them. “You hurt more when you fell,” he told the boy, gently running a thumb across Ichabod’s anklebone. Ichabod’s foot twitched in the Hessian’s hand, jumpy due to either the treatment he was receiving or the Hessian’s proximity, he didn’t know. This was the type of man he preferred when he was indulging in such things: painfully pretty, dark-haired, shockingly pale. He didn’t plan on taking the boy, but there was no harm in indulging himself a bit. “Foot too--” he gestured fruitlessly at the swollen ankle, “geschwollen. Big with hurt.” 

The Hessian nearly snorted, amused, as he watched confusion and alarm flicker across Crane’s face as the ghost tightly re-bound the boy’s foot. 

\---

The most terrifying man Ichabod had even come across was almost tenderly holding his foot in his hand, he realized in a panic. He doubted this was supposed to be comforting at all, and it was certainly not in the least. Ichabod was preparing himself for the Hessian to tire of whatever game he was playing and finally snap his ankle completely, when his foot was released. “Ah-- Thank you?” he said, more of a question than anything. 

The ghost hauled him up by the arm in response. “You go now.” 

Ichabod would dearly love to do just that, but there seemed to be a severe lack of doors inside this tree. “How do I--” 

When Ichabod turned back toward the Hessian he found the ghost standing beside Daredevil. He was absolutely sure that the beast had not been with them in the room a moment before. He cautiously took the outstretched hand and allowed himself to be helped into the saddle like an invalid. As someone who had ridden the beast before, he prayed that this ride would be at least slightly less terrifying. He stiffened as the Hessian mounted behind him, sturdy arms pressing into Ichabod’s sides as the the horseman took the reins. He grasped at the pommel as Davedevil was kicked forward, painfully aware that he was sitting like a woman, not to mention nestled between a man’s thighs. As Daredevil neared the furthest wall, an opening formed, thick roots undulating and retreating back. Ichabod quickly closed his eyes, but it was too late, the gore of the portal burned into his mind. 

Blood, thick and sluggish, slowly wept from the edges, the gateway itself made of sinew and a thin film of what appeared to be skin, veiny and pulsing along with the heartbeat of the tree. Ichabod steeled himself for the journey, unconsciously pressing himself back into the Hessian’s chest. A wet noise met Ichabod’s ears as Daredevil pushed through hooves first. He felt thin flesh, moist and warm, against his face before they werethrough, the sound of tearing loud and unsettling. 

Once through, Ichabod rapidly wiped at his face, stomach rolling in disgust. To his surprise he was clean and, most importantly, dry. If possible, the trip through the gateway was far more distressing than seeing the ghost of the horseman emerging to kill had been. 

Gunpowder had predictably vanished from the small clearing, likely having bolted when the portal to the tree had opened. ‘Fantastic,’ he thought to himself, ‘I’ll have to walk all the way back to Sleepy Hollow on this foot.’

The horse didn’t stop, however, keeping a steady pace into the trees as they built up speed. “Where are you taking me now?”

“Town.”

Being escorted into town by a murderous ghost was not something Ichabod had even anticipated happening in his life, but here they were, riding in silence. He could feel like Hessian’s breath on his hair, which was surprising. He had not expected a ghost to breath at all but he was feeling the proof of it. The horseman’s body felt as warm and alive as any man’s. They came to a stop at the treeline above the wheat fields of the Van Tassel estate. The Hessian helped him to the ground.

As the Hessian helped Ichabod to the ground, he bared his teeth and said, “Week.” Ichabod barely had time to take a quick step back before the horseman wheeled Davedevil around and thundered back into the Western Woods, supernatural mist receding with him. 

Ichabod spoke nothing of the events to Katrina, as much to keep her from worrying as to ensure she wouldn’t try to assist. Something told him that involving her would be a terrible idea, one that he suspected the Hessian would not appreciate as he still believed Katrina the villain of the piece. He told her that he had found nothing in the woods, but not to venture out at night for safety’s sake. 

It wasn’t until he was in his bed that the reality of what had happened that night truly hit the constable, and he stayed fitfully awake, staring out the tiny window until exhaustion took him.


	4. Chapter 4

Ichabod had noted a change in the people of Sleepy Hollow. There was still an undertone of fear there, but it was now directed away from the headless horseman. The market woman didn’t meet Katrina’s eyes, Mrs. Dekker ducked back into her house as they passed by, and the shopkeeper Van Der Meer discreetly removed a crucifix from his front pocket. 

It was clear that not everyone believed that the late Lady Van Tassel had caused the horseman to ride again. The fact that Katrina’s kind mother-in-law had been reported dead before the horseman arrived at the church and that Katrina had drawn unholy sigils on the very floor of that building itself did not make her look completely guiltless. 

Katrina seemed innocent to the fact as she helped a hobbled Ichabod back from the small town’s humble market as she spoke about her day, “I requested that Mary Van Der Dyll take over some of Sarah’s duties just until we leave for New York and offered her a very good wage, but she still turned me down saying that— Ichabod.” 

He was startled from his thoughts by Katrina’s admonishment. “I apologize, I was thinking on—” the horseman. “On Gunpowder, the plow horse. I lost him in the woods last night and I fear—” 

“The horse was found. Although if you make a habit of losing horses I’m afraid you’ll find a lack of people willing to lend them to you,” she smiled and gave the arm linked through hers a pat. 

He returned the smile weakly and they lapsed back into silence as they walked. Ichabod still hadn’t informed Katrina on about the incident with the horseman the night before and had resolved to keep her innocent of the situation. It would be for the best, he was certain of it. Any more magic sent the Hessian’s way could only end in someone’s death. 

Ichabod shuddered, blaming it on the wind when Katrina had looked at him concerned. He had been very close to dying last night, but instead the harsh threats, physical and otherwise, had shifted suddenly into the surprisingly gentle mending of his foot. The Hessian had even aided Ichabod onto and off of Daredevil. That was somehow just as terrifying as the threats had been. 

He had briefly considered taking Katrina and young Masbath and running, but he was unsure how far the horseman could actually travel. The best course of action, he decided, was to stay as long as possible to try and solve this mystery, keeping running as a last resort. 

After dinner that day, Ichabod retired early to bed blaming his foot and the need to rest it. Katrina approved and sent him up to bed with a tea that he dared not drink. The last time he had only taken a sip of one of Katrina’s concoxions and still had immediately fallen into a dead sleep for an entire day. He discreetly poured the beverage out of his window after firmly shutting the bedroom door. He had packed all the books of magic from the Van Tassel estate into his bag and had an entire separate bag of town records, which sat on his bed. Hefting both bags and his scientific supplies into his arms, he snuck his way down to the kitchen and out of the servant exit on the side of the house. Straining, he made his way over to Masbath’s brown mare and started loading up the poor creature. 

After finally struggling his way onto the horse he urged the laiden beast off toward the Western Woods.

\---

The forest had alerted the Hessian of Crane’s approaching presence, and so he stood waiting for him by the Tree of the Dead. Crane brought his horse to a stop at the end of the clearing before cautiously making his way forward. He cleared his throat, “I have brought all that I can think of that may be of some use to us.”

The horseman watched as the boy awkwardly slid his way off the horse. He had not expected Crane to come back so soon, if at all. The boy continued, “I was truthfully not sure what really would be beneficial material so I brought all I had—”

“Ichabod Crane,” the horseman interjected as Crane showed him a sack filled with more books than he had ever needed to see, “why do you have books?” 

Crane blinked uncomprehendingly at him as he pulled another bag of books down from his horse, which was growing more and more nervous, being next to a ghost. The Hessian gestured toward the beast, “Tie it.”

“Oh! Yes, very good, thank you.” 

He repeated his question as the boy tied his horse at the edge of the clearing, far away enough to keep the horse from going into a panic. “Why do you have books?”

“You asked me to look into what ails your tree, and I mean to do so. How else are we to discover anything?” 

‘We’, the boy had said. “You are wanting help?”

The boy had begun hauling his bags over to the ghost, clearly too weak for the task and in pain. “It is your tree, sir. I imagine you know more about it than anyone.”

The gall of the boy, to assume the Hessian would be aiding him in this task. He fixed Crane with a fearsome expression as he was handed a surprisingly heavy bag. 

Crane cringed back at the look but held his ground. “Do you wish for assistance or don’t you?”

Having no proper argument against that, the Hessian bared his teeth in frustration, clearly alarming the boy. Crane held his black bag to his chest, exposing the large rip the horseman’s sword had left. It was a wonder the bag was still functional. Crane added hastily, “I mean, you want me to discover if you have a curse cast against you and I wish to keep my head on my shoulders, so I deduced that your presence would be beneficial—” 

“Is a curse,” the horseman interjected. “No if.”

“Of course.” Crane did not seem convinced. 

The Hessian gestured toward Daredevil, who had been obediently waiting for his master several yards behind him. Taking this boy and all his books into his tree was not something he looked forward to. “Get on.”

Crane looked from Daredevil to the tree and back again. “Do you mean to take me into the tree? I think staying out here would be just as sufficient.” 

“No.” He left it at that and took Daredevil’s reins, leading him over to the boy, who had deflated.

“If we must.”

The horseman watched Crane ungracefully mount Daredevil before swinging up easily behind him, abandoning the three bags in the leaves. “Now wait a minute—” the boy protested before the Hessian kicked Daredevil into motion, ignoring him completely. He steadied the boy with a hand on his slender waist and drove the demon horse through the gateway of the tree.

 

\--

Ichabod held his arm over his face as they travelled through the portal made of gore, having learned his lesson last time. He kept his eyes firmly shut until the horseman nudged him, nearly sending him toppling off the horse. The Hessian dismounted first and waited for Ichabod to do the same, no longer as courteous about his injured ankle as he previously had been. 

“The books,” Ichabod complained again as soon as he was safely on the ground. 

The Hessian actually growled at him. “I get your books.”

As promised, the ghost turned as strode back out of the portal, stiff and annoyed. A moment later Ichabod’s bags were tossed through one by one, the man scrambling backward to avoid being hit. “Now you have books,” the Hessian snarled once he had reentered the tree. 

Acutely aware that he had just angered a ghost known for lopping of heads, Ichabod quickly set out to placate him. “Wonderful, thank you.” He began retrieving the black leather bags and sat, making a careful stack of books on the floor, as there were no tables or chairs to be found. “Now we can begin.”

Silence greeted him and he looked up to find the Hessian starting down at him with a sour expression. Daredevil was nowhere to be found, Ichabod noted with some wariness. He didn’t particularly like how the beast seemed to appear and vanish into thin air. 

“I thought we might start with the books on witchcraft and see if we can discover anything that way. Or I suppose you could start with the magic and I could begin with Sleepy Hollow’s surrounding area’s history, although I’m not sure how useful that will be—” Ichabod stopped mid-sentence with a frown. 

The Horseman looked furious. 

“Is— is there something the matter?”

“Can’t read,” the Hessian bit out. 

‘Of course,’ Ichabod admonished himself, ‘it was foolish of me to assume. Not to mention he doesn’t exactly look the part of an avid reader.’ 

“Ah,” Ichabod began, “no matter. It will take longer but I could read aloud and we could discuss—”

The Hessian’s expression hadn’t changed. He waved a hand at himself, “Do not speak English well.” 

Another setback, to be sure. But one that Ichabod was sure could be managed. He, like many educated men of the time, had studied German. He could not read fluently by any means but he imagined it would be enough. “Ich lese ein bisschen Deutsch. Ich werde sprechen Deutsch mit Ihnen.”* 

The fact that the ghost immediately burst out laughing did not speak well for Ichabod’s accent. “I have only read the words, not spoken them,” he defended. 

The Hessian’s laugh was a frightening sight, the sound alarmingly loud in the silence of the tree and his sharpened teeth exposed. “Not good. Sounds very bad,” he informed Ichabod when he was finished, looking just as surprised as the constable had been at the laughter. 

Embarrassed, Ichabod stared intently at the dusty tome in his hand. “Yes, well, I suppose we won’t be using that idea then.”

\---

The boy sat pouting on the floor with his books. The Hessian almost felt bad that he was being so unhelpful, but not quite. He pointed at the third bag that remained so far unopened. “Books?”

Crane’s shoulders relaxed and he pulled the damaged bag over, “No, it’s my scientific instruments. I use them to deduce crimes as a constable and I thought I had better bring them along.”

“This is not— it is magic.”

“Well that may be, but do not be so quick to assume them useless when—” The boy’s mouth clicked shut as a bead of nearly black blood landed on his face, stark against his pale skin as it traveled down his cheek. 

They both looked upward in alarm before a small fissure split the ceiling above Crane. Without hesitating, he threw himself over the books, pushing them out of the way as quickly as he could as blood started descending from above in a light rain.

The books had been saved, but Crane had ended up splattered with red. The constable stood, quickly removed his coat and began scrubbing at his face and hair. “Does that happen often?” he inquired waspishly. 

He fell into silence once the enraged Hessian met his eyes. “Curse, you see? Curse.” 

Grabbing Crane by the arm, the horseman pulled him closer to the slit, which was starting to slow its bleeding. It was more of an ooze now, the blood sluggishly congealing around it. “Fix it,” the Hessian demanded, pointing. 

“I told you, I don’t know how. I don’t even know what’s wrong, that’s what I’m here to find out— would you kindly unhand me?” Crane attempted to pull away from him. 

The Hessian held him fast and spun him to meet his steely blue eyes. “Fix or I kill you,” he reminded before roughly releasing the boy. 

“So you have said.” The boy winced and held his placatingly hands in front of himself as the Hessian raised his eyebrows. “I apologize. I simply mean that I have not forgotten. And as I would like to keep my head, I would like to examine the blood.”

He grunted and moved aside for the boy, who practically ran over to the blood spatters in order to get away from him. Both eyebrows rose upward as Crane began examining the drying blood on hand and knee. This was not an unpleasant sight and the Hessian indulged himself, studying the boy’s backside. 

“The blood is too dark, a sure sign of some sickness, no doubt. Normally, I would find blood such as this in a victim who has suffocated,” Crane said as he pushed himself into a sitting position. “I am not sure what meaning it has other than the fact that you are correct, it seems some sort of ailment has befallen the tree.” 

The horseman was only half listening. The boy had a smudge of dried blood on his neck right below his right ear. The Hessian reached down and wiped it clean with a thumb, causing Crane to fall silent. “What—”

Enjoying Crane’s scandalized face and wide eyes, he shrugged. “You had blood.”

Crane lifted a hand to his neck in response, “Oh. Well you have my thanks.” He sounded far more confused than grateful. The Hessian exposed his teeth in an unpleasant smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *”I can read a little German. I will speak German with you.”


	5. Chapter 5

There were books scattered all around the Tree of the Dead’s floor and they still hadn’t come any closer to an answer. Frustrated, Ichabod closed the large tome he had been reading with more force than strictly necessary. He swallowed thickly, wishing he had water after reading aloud for what must have been hours. The Hessian looked up at the sudden silence, Ichabod suspected he had stopped listening long ago. “I am at a loss,” he admitted.

The Hessian, who looked ready to fall asleep, grunted. “That is books. Learning nothing.”

Affronted, Ichabod snapped, “Do you have any ideas, then, that you have been keeping to yourself?”

They stared at each other. The horseman clearly had no response to that.

Stretching his legs out, Ichabod winced as his knees popped. They had been sitting on the floor for some time and his body was starting to protest. “Beyond cutting away part of the tree to look inside, having Katrina Van Tassel examine the tree with whatever magic she may have is the best—”

At the mention of Katrina, the Hessian rose, retrieved a hand axe from beside the fireplace and buried it in the wall in response. The axe came away bloodied and he struck the wall again. 

Ichabod stayed where he was, alarmed. “Well, I suppose we’re operating, then.” 

With a final thunk of the axe the horseman pulled away a section of the wall, which came free with a wet sound. He tossed it behind himself and it landed near Ichabod with a squelch. The Hessian beckoned him over and he reluctantly complied, pushing himself to his feet as he grabbed his bag of scientific instruments. He hadn’t had the opportunity to truly examine the inner workings of the tree, and the prospect was as exciting as it was distasteful. The Hessian shifted away in order to give Ichabod room to investigate the sizable hole but kept close enough that their shoulders would brush occasionally. Unsettled, Ichabod shifted away minutely and set about the task at hand.

The wound still wept blood, and Ichabod used his handkerchief to sop up the excess to better see what lay beneath. The gore of the tree did not make any sort of anatomical sense to the constable; there was a small band of muscle that ran along the right edge of the hole and yet the rest of the exposed innards looked to be a type of visceral tissue. There was something else that struck Ichabod as odd, even given the seemingly haphazard construction of the tree’s meaty insides. He dabbed again at the hole as blood welled up again, obscuring his vision once more. What appeared to be a small root system had attached itself to the flesh of the tree, thin and thready. 

Ichabod leaned forward for a closer look. There was something unsettling about this discovery, something that inexplicably felt wrong. He brushed his fingers lightly across a section of the fibrous roots, the thin band of muscle twitching in response. The constable’s lips twisted in mild disgust but he pressed on and carefully detached a strand from the grain of the muscle. A surge of _wrongwrongwrong_ slammed into him as soon as it was worked free, causing him to stagger blindly backward. He squeezed his eyes shut and flung a hand out for the nearest object to stabilize himself. The pain enveloped his very being as if his soul had been electrified. 

When Ichabod came back to himself and pried his eyes open, he was alarmed to discover that he had pressed himself half into the horseman’s chest who was supporting nearly all his weight with a hand set against his back. He had just enough time to register the ghost’s amused expression before he lurched forward and dry-heaved.

\---

Ichabod had practically flung himself into the Hessian’s arms. He had steadied the boy with a hand on the small of his back as he sagged against him, allowing his hand to settle lower than strictly necessary. He was not as concerned with Ichabod’s violent reaction to whatever it was he had touched than with the pleasant sensation of the boy’s smaller frame pressed against him. It had been a very long time since he had been with anyone, and having such a pretty thing so close was making him painfully aware of that fact. 

The Hessian had never had any qualms in taking what he wanted, and he was beginning to want this boy.  
He also wanted his tree, his home, to be safe, so he would have to tread carefully. If he simply took the boy as he wanted, Ichabod would be much less inclined to aid the Hessian. 

There were hands suddenly pushing against his chest and he snapped out of his reverie just in time to see Ichabod spin around and start heaving. Spell broken, the horseman frowned. “What happened? You are being sick.” 

Ichabod coughed and pressed his hands against his eyes as he straightened. “I don’t know,” he replied, voice unsteady, “I felt— all of a sudden I felt something. I cannot begin to explain what. It was— It was a feeling of illness and something dark and there was so _much_ and it _hurt.”_

That was interesting. Ichabod shouldn’t have reacted so strongly to the tree, being mortal as he was. Not even the horseman had felt the tree so intensely. This lent credence to what the Hessian had believed originally, that the boy did have some magic in him. The Hessian flew into a rage at the prospect that Ichabod had lied to him, had cursed him. He slammed Ichabod backward into the wall, bared his sharpened teeth, and hissed in the boy’s face, “You lie, you do magic on me.” 

Wide, terrified eyes met the Hessian’s, as the boy brought his fingers up to tug at the hand that was now around his throat. “I did not, I swear it! I told you, I’m trying to help you. Please, I don’t understand. Why are you so upset? Please don’t kill me, I’m sorry,” the boy frantically pleaded, and the horseman was certain that Ichabod didn’t know what he was apologizing for. He was completely innocent to the fact that he had just sensed something that he should not have been able to. 

The Hessian released Ichabod’s throat, running a thumb down the soft skin in what he thought was a comforting way. That was as apologetic as the horseman got. 

Ichabod jumped at the touch, decidedly not comforted in the slightest. He attempted to cringe further away, shaking. The Hessian almost felt guilty. 

“You know tree, you—” the horseman drew his eyebrows together, “the tree,” he corrected himself. “You feel the tree. You know magic.” 

The boy’s lips pulled downward, clearly confused. “I do not know magic, as I have already reiterated. I am not a witch.” 

The Hessian had not moved away, forcing Ichabod to either press himself back into the wall. He motioned toward the already healing hole to his left. “Accident. Accident magic.” 

“That would still require me to _have magic._ ” 

The horseman sighed through his nose, giving up. “What are we do now, then?” 

“Well, I supposed that— I supposed that I— I suppose that I have no clue what to do next,” Ichabod admitted, slumping. “I know that I promised to solve this, and I will! But I am not… well versed in magic.” He went to hold up his hands in front of him but just ended up brushing them awkwardly against the horseman’s stomach due to their close proximity. “Er—” 

The horseman looked down at the hands in amusement as they were jerked away, his lips twitching upward in a brief small smile. He finally moved away from Ichabod, feeling generous. No longer crowded, the constable straightened his clothes as he kept his eyes lowered in what was clearly embarrassment. 

When it became clear that Ichabod wasn’t going to speak first, the Hessian broke the silence. “It is light soon. Take books.” 

“It would be better to leave them, as I would not have to drag them back and forth.” 

The Hessian quirked an eyebrow. “Why? Books are not help.” 

Ichabod stood straighter. “Books have a tendency to be very helpful. Just because they have no answers now does not mean they will not be useful later when we have more understanding of this… situation,” he defended. 

Unimpressed, the Hessian repeated his original statement, “Books are not help.” 

The boy raised a finger and opened his mouth. Receiving a lecture on the importance of books was not something that he wished, so he relented, “Yes, books can stay. You go.” 

It was dangerously close to sunrise and Ichabod would be stuck down here all day with him if he did not leave the tree now. The witch would wonder where the boy had disappeared to, and he couldn’t have her poking around. 

Ichabod jolted, “Oh! I must get back before Katrina notices I’m gone.” He looked around, turning in a slow circle, his brow furrowed, “How do I—?” 

The Hessian smirked to himself behind Ichabod’s back and didn’t bother answering. The ghost decided that he might as well take advantage of the situation and, in doing so, allow himself to touch the boy again. He took a step forward and took hold of the boy’s slim hips, spinning him around. The horseman lifted Ichabod over his shoulder unceremoniously, relishing in Ichabod’s surprised yelp. 

\--- 

It was not at all how Ichabod expected the evening to end. He had been slung over a ghost’s shoulder, and, alarmingly, a large hand had been settled dangerously near his rear end. As the Hessian took a step toward the wall, and presumably the gateway of the tree, Ichabod regained his voice. “Sir! I must insist that you release me this instant! What do you think you are doing?” 

The horseman merely grunted in response without slowing. _There must be a reason. Perhaps mortals cannot pass through on their own?_

It seemed ridiculous that the Hessian would be hauling him around if there was any alternative. 

As they neared, the wall split, roots pulling apart with a mixture of creaks and the unsettling sound of something wet tearing. Ichabod closed his eyes again as the gore was exposed and they passed through, suddenly thankful that he wasn’t forced to trod over the sticky blood that pooled on the floor. He made a nearly inaudible noise of displeasure and the thumb of the hand supporting him caressed the juncture of where his rear met his back upper thigh in what Ichabod could only conclude was an attempt of comfort. Or perhaps mocking? 

He stilled and his eyes flew open. That was a type of mocking he was unfamiliar with, but the Hessian attempting to be kind was unthinkable. Not to mention the way he was touching Ichabod was absurd. He had no time to dwell further on what had just transpired as he was lowered to the ground. They were back in the forest, and the horseman had been right. Although it was not yet sunrise, birds could be heard singing in the trees as they woke. The ghost nodded toward Masbath’s horse. “Go now. No many time.” 

“Not much time.” Ichabod corrected automatically. His eyes widened and he bit his lip, “I mean— Well— I apologize and I must go now goodbye,” he blurted, spinning around on his heels and quickly making his way toward the horse, hoping that the horseman wouldn’t decide to just kill him then. What was he thinking, correcting a murderous ghost’s grammar? 

There was no response so Ichabod awkwardly continued, “I will be back again tomorrow night. I think it is best to—” As he turned he was met with an empty clearing, faint blue light beginning to break through the distant treeline. 


	6. Chapter 6

The Van Tassel estate was quiet and still when Ichabod returned, his absence gone unnoticed. He immediately collapsed into bed to get whatever sleep he could. 

He awoke to Masbath standing over his bed. “Miss Katrina would like to know if you are ever coming down for your breakfast, sir.” 

Ichabod stared uncomprehendingly for a long second, his eyes heavy as he struggled to keep them open. “I will be downstairs in a moment.”

He waited until Masbath had left the room to remove his blanket. He was still in the clothing he wore last night,which would certainly have been suspicious to the boy. He changed quickly and made his way downstairs.

“I apologise, I overslept,” Ichabod told Katrina as he stumbled into the kitchen still just half-awake and his vision blurry with sleep. 

Katrina turned, her lips turning downward as she took in the sight of him. “Ichabod, you look dreadful!” She crossed the room and placed a hand on his forehead, pushing back the dark hair that had flopped forward. “You have no fever, but you must be ill. I told you it was too cold to be wandering around the Western Woods, burying horsemen. You must get back to bed. I will bring you breakfast.” 

Ichabod glanced over to her work table covered in an assortment of what was decidedly not breakfast. He gawked at a canning jar filled with writhing earthworms in disbelief. “Katrina—”

“Ichabod Crane, I am in my own home and I will very well cast whatever spells I wish,” she settled her hands on the hips of her dress, which was in a style a bit out of date for modern New York but still looked lovely on her. 

“Whatever spells you wish?” Ichabod repeated, as disappointed as he was alarmed. 

“Good magic. Spells of protection, don’t be obtuse.”

He rubbed at his eyes, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming. “Apologies. I would simply like to reiterate that—” 

“That you are worried for me. I know.” Her face softened as she pressed a small hand to his cheek. “Do not worry so, I am doing as you said. No one has seen me.” 

“You do not need to cast spells on my account, Katrina.” Ichabod would have preferred a little less magic in his life, to be frank. 

“The horseman came here. He has not been back, but if you insist on looking into the business of ghosts again, I will be casting spells of protection on you.” 

She was stubborn and Ichabod was tired, so he relented and went back upstairs and practically threw himself into his bed.

\---

It had only been dark for an hour when Ichabod entered the forest. The Hessian hadn’t expected him to show up until much later, when the witch was asleep. He met the boy at the tree as he did last time, waiting silently until Ichabod entered the small clearing. 

He wasn’t carrying any books this time, the horseman noted, relieved. 

“Ichabod Crane. Inside tree?” The Hessian wasn’t yet convinced that anything would be discovered by reading books inside a cursed tree, but he would let the boy try, for another night at least. 

“Oh, yes please. I thought we would start where we left off. I mean where we left off reading, not— not the part where you almost strangled me. Please.” Ichabod cringed the more he spoke. 

The Ghost’s lips twitched briefly upward in a nearly unnoticeable smile. “I will try.”

Ichabod appeared surprised by his statement, “Oh. Thank you, I was not expecting you to acquiesce.”

The Hessian shrugged a shoulder and let himself grin, which caused Ichabod’s mouth to click shut. “I am kind man.”

The boy stayed silent, likely unsure if the Hessian was serious. 

“Come. I will take you inside.” 

The first thing Ichabod did was head straight to his books, to the Hessian’s silent dismay. The boy settled himself down on the bed of furs and pulled a large tome into his lap as if he belonged there. He looked very pretty in the Hessian’s bed, though, so he opted to let Ichabod stay. “Alright, let us start with The Natural History, Book XII. That is the Natural History of Trees.”

Things were about to get very boring very fast.

And they did. Ichabod read outloud to a glassy eyed horseman for near two hours when the ghost let out a jaw cracking yawn. 

“—And the other trees which we have mentioned as being destitute of marrow, consist entirely of bone. All these woods are of a blackish color, with the exception of—” He cut himself off at the yawn and frowned. “Am I boring you?”

“Yes,” was the reply. 

Ichabod stared, his mouth forming a small ‘o.’ “Well, excuse me, but I cannot think of a better way of helping you at the moment, sir.”

The Hessian didn’t point out that Ichabod could easily read at the Van Tassel estate. He was beginning to enjoy the company; it made his death much more interesting. 

The boy’s brow suddenly knit together and his mouth parted. The horseman was left unsure if Ichabod was startled, confused, or both. “I sincerely apologize. I have never asked your name.”

It was the Hessian’s turn to furrow his brow. He had not thought of his name for so long he wasn’t sure he remembered. The ghost considered Ichabod’s question, digging through his memory. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, just out of his grasp. He closed his eyes for a moment as he concentrated, and suddenly something clicked. “Dedrick.* My name is Dedrick.” 

“Well, hello, Dedrick. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

The boy was likely lying, as no one in their right mind would wish to know a ghost who not only fought on the opposite side in the war, but who had chased Ichabod around the countryside trying to kill him and his little witch. The Hessian huffed out a laugh. “No, it is not.”

A rosy pink crept over Ichabod’s pale face. “Well,” he started, quieter than normal, “I suppose I mean that it is pleasure to meet you, instead of having you try and murder me.” He paused, the pink rapidly leaving his cheeks. “I suppose that will not last for long.”

\---

A pleasure was a stretch. It was hardly a _pleasure_ to be near the ghost, to be near Dedrick, as he was constantly in fear for his life, and whenever there was a moment he forgot who he was speaking to the Hessian was quick to remind him. It wasn’t as painful to be near the horseman as he would have expected, however. The Ghost was almost kind at times, or perhaps mocking. It was baffling, the way he was increasingly touching Ichabod, and the touches were… _mostly_ almost gentle.

But that would only last until the end of the week.

The Hessian broke the silence first. “Be useful and no worry.”

“I am _trying_.” Ichabod complained, flipping through the pages of his book to hide the shaking of his hands. “I just wish I knew how,” he mumbled aloud to himself. 

Shrugging a shoulder, Dedrick looked unimpressed. “You fix one curse. Do again.”

“But this is so different! I don’t even have an idea of what could be wrong and—” Ichabod cut himself off abruptly. Perhaps telling the horseman that he didn’t have a plan was not the best idea.

Dedrick laughed again, something that was happening more and more frequently. It was always startling to hear, as Ichabod would have assumed the ghost never laughed, even in life. To his alarm, Dedrick had moved closer and lowered himself onto the bed next to Ichabod, near enough that their shoulders bumped as he sat. 

“Du bist dumm. Ich mag dich,**” the Hessian remarked. 

Although Ichabod could read German rather well, hearing the words was a completely different animal. He could pick up a word here and there but his understanding was useless when faced with a native German speaker. “That is not fair, you know I cannot understand you.”

“Aber sie lesen Deutsch,***” he mocked. At least it sounded like mocking.

Ichabod snapped the book in his lap shut, only to scowl down at it as he realized that he had not marked his place. “Stop it.”

A hand landed softly on his knee. The Hessian was patting him. Ichabod stared down at the appendage in disbelief. 

“You be no fun, Ichabod Crane.”

The hand hadn’t moved. “That is because I am not here to have fun, I am here to keep my head.” 

Ichabod had grown warm all over from Dedrick’s close proximity and the hand on his knee. He couldn’t quite put his finger on why, but it was likely a side effect of sitting next to what was assumedly his future killer. He looked over just in time to see the Hessian’s mouth break into a grin, his teeth sharp and menacing.

“I think we will have fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I was going to jump on the Christiaan bandwagon but then I realized that’s an English/Dutch name, not German.   
> ** “you are stupid. I like you.”  
> *** “But you read German.”


	7. Chapter 7

It was the fourth night Ichabod had been meeting with the horseman, with three nights left until his week was up. The constable smeared his peas porridge across his plate, consumed by that knowledge. He stabbed at his beef and glanced upward, to find Katrina and Masbath staring. 

Ichabod flushed and put down his fork. Katrina’s lips pulled down at the corners, as she said, “You have not taken a bite. Are you feeling well?”

“I am perfectly fine, I assure you. I am just tired. I may retire early.” That way he could nap before another sleepless night, because of course he was foolish enough to go out again. 

“You have sighed so often that I could not hope to count them, and you have barely eaten. I’m worried for you, Ichabod, you looks so drawn as of late.”

He hated to bring this to the dinner table, but an excuse must be made, “I admit to having some trouble sleeping. I have much on my mind; the horseman hasn’t been seen near the town but he is still in the woods.” That was truth, after all. 

There was a cough from down the table. “And have you learned anything about that, sir?” Masbath inquired.

That was a question that Ichabod had hoped would not come up. “I have not made much headway, I’m afraid. But so far everything is quiet, so you should not worry,” he said, standing then, wanting to escape the conversation as hastily as possible, “but for now I shall retire early, so that I may awake fresh in the morning and take another look at the situation.” 

Dedrick was waiting by the tree as usual when Ichabod entered the clearing. He was greeted with a “guten tag” and escorted back into the tree, the Hessian steering him by the elbow. The constable cringed as he stepped onto the flesh of the gateway’s floor. He could feel it give and squish slightly under his shoes. That was the first time he had been permitted to step into the tree on his own accord and, as much as being carried inside was humiliating, he decided he actually preferred that method.

Dedrick’s hand slid off Ichabod’s elbow and up his arm before he was released, causing the constable to shift in a mixture of embarrassment and confusion. The ghost must be starved for human contact, being trapped in the Tree of the Dead for so long, he decided. That was the only thing that explained the new, near constant touching. 

“I, ah-- I thought we could start with opening up the tree again. Tonight. I felt something last time, the curse I mean to say. I felt the curse itself. The tree’s magic, it must effect mortals. At least, I believe it so,” Ichabod rambled, always caught off-guard by the Hessian’s touch.

The Hessian stared. 

Ichabod felt his face grow hot. Every time Dedrick caressed, touched, or brushed up against him lately, he’d turned into a babbling wreck, something in the pit of his stomach growing tight and his ability to complete a proper sentence vanishing.

“You want I cut open tree?” Dedrick asked after a long pause. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, I would like to examine it again.” 

Ichabod looked to where the Hessian had cut open the tree the other day. There was no evidence that the tree had ever been touched, the wood smooth and unscarred. Had it been like that yesterday? Ichabod couldn’t remember. 

Without preamble, the Hessian retrieved his axe and once again slammed it into the tree, ignoring the blood that sprayed across his chest and neck. After there was a fresh bloody hole in the wall, he gestured toward the hole. “It hurt you. You touch it again?”

Ichabod glanced over at the hole as he rolled up his sleeves, having removed his coat while Dedrick worked. “I suppose I must. I still have no explanation for what happened that day, and I fully intend to find one.”

The small, veiny roots had spread inside the tree, curling around the grains of muscle, attaching themselves to the tissue and disappearing into the fascia. It all appeared inflamed. Ichabod’s vision was quickly obstructed by blood as it welled up and spread itself across the entire surface. Ichabod hesitated. Was this something he was prepared to actually do? Last time had been horrible, had left him shaking for hours.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Ichabod slid his hand into the gore of the tree, sticky and hot. I should have wiped away the blood, he realized, not able to make out any details on what he was touching and took the excuse to squeeze his eyes shut. 

Fingers brushing slick muscle, he realized that he felt perfectly normal and minutely relaxed, his eyes prying themselves open. Suddenly, he felt something rough compared to the soft viscera under his fingers. 

Hair. He was touching hair. Ichabod yanked his hand out of the hole, startled, and looked down at his hand. A few strands of bloody blonde hair had come free and attached themselves, one fiber curling around his index finger like a hairwork ring. Ichabod shook the appendage, disgusted and a bit alarmed as an electrical current buzzed through him, the thought of something familiar settling itself on the outskirts of his mind, just out of reach. 

A word on the tip of his tongue. Something important.

\---

Dedrick reached out and unnecessarily steadied Ichabod, placing a hand low on his back, feeling the soft shirt under his hands. The boy looked so much younger without his coat. More innocent. Prettier. 

“Good?” the ghost asked.

“Yes-- Yes. It is only-- there was hair.” Ichabod held his right hand up before pulling the bloody hair off, only to get it stuck on his left. He shook his hand again with a frown, his own hair falling forward into his face. 

“It startled me is all.” Ichabod used the clean back of his hand to push his hair from his face, only for it to fall right back again. “I--” he stopped speaking abruptly when Dedrick reached over, his face growing pleasingly pink when the Hessian more successfully smoothed his hair into position. 

The boy made a noise finally as Dedrick swept a thumb across Ichabod’s brow. It was barely a noise, more of an exhale through parted lips, causing something deep inside himself to stir and awaken. 

He had never been good at being patient, and there were a few moments where he was dangerously close to simply slamming the boy back into the tree and taking what he wanted. What he wanted, though, was a willing partner, to have this boy to look at him with want in his eyes.

And if he admitted it to himself, his not wanting to scare the boy away was no longer simply because of needing Ichabod’s aid. 

Ichabod turned his face away minutely, a slow flush spreading over his face. “Well-- Thank you for your aid.” After another look at the Hessian from under his lashes, he turned back to the gaping hole in the tree, where bright blood had began to seep from the edges and run down the wall in small, slow streams.

The constable was pressing a freshly cleaned handkerchief into the wound, absorbing excess blood when Dedrick made a decision. He stepped forward and placed his hands firmly on Ichabod’s hips. “Ichabod,” he murmured the boy’s given name next to his ear and took gentle possession of Ichabod’s wrist, sliding his hand free from the hole. 

The boy turned and pressed himself back into the wall, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in alarm. “Ah--” 

The Hessian took another step forward so that their chests nearly touched. He took hold of Ichabod’s wrist again. “You are scared of me. You should, but I not kill you soon. I want… I want ‘sex’ with you. I do not know how to say.” “Sex” being the same in English and German was a happy accident, as he had never bothered to learn the English term, getting his point across perfectly. 

\---

Ichabod was flabbergasted. A rush of warmth overcame him then, pressed there with his back to the tree and pinned by the ghost. Hysterically, he raised his free, bloody hand to Dedrick’s chest, smearing blood across his leather armour and forgetting to push him away. 

“What?” He could not have possibly understood the ghost correctly. “I do not-- I am not-- We are men.” He had heard hushed rumors of this happening in war (and elsewhere, according to bawdy jokes traded between drunken men). Perhaps dying before the war had finished had left the Hessian in that state of mind. 

He wiggled out from under the Hessian, refusing to look at the man’s face, numb with shock. “I really must protest, sir. You are-- That is not right. I must go.” Finally, Ichabod freed his hand from Dedrick’s grip. 

He spun to the closed gateway and pointed. “I--” A hand closed around his. 

“I take you outside.” 

Ichabod still didn’t look. 

Once he was quickly riding away, Ichabod allowed himself to panic. What on earth had just happened? The Hessian had wanted to… to lie with him. He had been called womanly before, but this was taking things a bit far. The thought of lying with another man… It was immoral. 

_And so was your mother then, with her witchcraft_ , came the unbidden thought. 

It was true that since forsaking religion, he had a much more lenient stance on what many issues considered by the intolerant views of the church to be immoral or wrong. But this... 

This was something else entirely.

Now if he had been a woman, he supposed the Hessian could be considered handsome if you ignored the teeth, all hard lines, and strong muscle. Yes, he could certainly see why a woman might want the man-- He forced himself to stop that line of thinking. He was not like that, not an (he struggled to think around the word “sinner”) unnatural man like that. He thought of Katrina, with her fair face and soft body, gentle and beautiful. He would marry her and lie with her, and, oh, that left him with a slow burn of dread in his stomach. 

But every man had trepidations about marriage. Cold feet were to be expected. 

He stopped his horse. 

What was he doing? The horseman was going to kill him in three days if he didn’t discover the source of his tree’s curse and here he was riding away. He hesitated. Should he go back? Pray the ghost didn’t bring it up again? The Hessian hadn’t seemed angry with him when he left, but then again Ichabod hadn’t truly looked at him. Perhaps he was furious. No, he wouldn’t have let Ichabod leave so easily then. 

Ichabod nudged his horse, urging the beast in the opposite direction of the tree of the dead. 

\---

Last night had not gone as the Hessian planned. 

If he was honest with himself he wasn’t really surprised, and he expected the boy to be back despite the proposition he had made. Ichabod had to if he didn’t want to die. And he would still have the boy, of that he was certain. Dedrick had never truly seduced anyone before besides the silly women he had met in bars, but as they were there to be seduced it wasn’t much of a challenge. 

A rabbit he had slaughtered sat roasting atop the fire, a last minute gift for the boy. Dedrick did not need to eat, wasn’t even sure if he could, but dinner was always a good gift for a mortal.

The boy would have to be there soon; it was already dark.

Three hours later, the Hessian started to wonder if Ichabod would show up at all. Perhaps he had miscalculated and truly scared off the boy. He scowled at the rabbit, furious with himself. He should have waited longer to make any advances. 

Just when Dedrick was about to throw the cooling rabbit at the wall, convinced that Ichabod wasn’t coming, he suddenly sensed the boy entering his wood. Perhaps he hadn’t acted too quickly after all. 

He rode out to meet the boy, carefull not to allow Daredevil too close to Ichabod’s horse. It wouldn’t do for him to fall from a startled horse; who would break the curse then? Dedrick was starting to worry. The tree had felt more and more stifling the last few days, as if he didn’t belong. The tree was sick, and he didn’t know what that would mean for his ghost. “You are late.”

Ichabod slowly dismounted his horse, managing to look awkward even after all this riding. “I did not know that there was a time I had to be here,” he retorted testily. 

It seemed he was still upset.

No matter, the Hessian would sway him. “I take you from here.”

There was no argument, and Dedrick watched as Ichabod tied his horse and hesitantly approached. The Hessian held down a gloved hand to aid the boy into the front of the saddle. He settled himself, making sure Ichabod’s backside was pressing against him. He felt Ichabod attempt to shift away but there was nowhere for him to go. He placed a hand on the boy’s hip, and it remained there for the rest of the ride.

Once they were through the portal, Dedrick helped a quiet Ichabod down from Daredevil. The boy wouldn’t meet his eyes, choosing to study the inside of the tree instead. 

“I didn’t quite manage to finish my investigation last time.” Ichabod said it as though it was the Hessian’s fault, when really it was the boy’s own fault he had left. 

“Eat first.” It was not a question.

Ichabod considered the rabbit, appearing bewildered by the offer. “Thank you, but I have eaten.” 

The horseman glowered from Ichabod to the rabbit, and back again. He had not considered that the boy would have already fed.

“But, thank you, that was very-- considerate,” the boy added quickly. 

\--

The ghost had cooked him dinner, Ichabod thought hysterically. It was almost like a bizarre courtship of sorts. 

The ghost also appeared offended at his refusal. Ichabod noted that there were no plates or utensils anywhere, indicating that this was a hasty and ill thought-out plan. Ichabod shouldn’t be here. This was one of the most foolish things he’d ever done. 

He had been doing quite a lot of foolish things lately. 

It was better not to think about any ulterior motives of the Hessian and instead focus on the matter of the curse. He paused in his thoughts. Covering the wound Dedrick caused the tree last night was a crusty layer of ligneous tissue: a rough scab that seemed half bark. As he watched, fascinated, Dedrick took hold of the edge and indifferently ripped the scab off with a wet noise. He tossed it into the corner of the room and turned and fixed his ice blue eyes to Ichabod’s. “What you wanted?”

Breaking eye contact with the ghost, Ichabod began removing his coat. “Yes, thank you.” 

Much to Ichabod’s displeasure, Dedrick stayed very, very close to the hole in the wall, practically pressing himself into the man. Ichabod tilted himself away. He tried very hard not to think of what the horseman’s proximity might mean. 

Ichabod hadn’t gotten very far last night, having been… distracted as he was. He had hoped that the ghost had given up, but Dedrick’s lack of personal space wasn’t promising. Ichabod shook his head and reached into the wall’s opening. There was a gap between two bands of muscle and so he took a deep breath and slid his hand into the narrow passage, not knowing what he expected to find, really. He wasn’t completely convinced that the tree was cursed, if he was honest with himself. It did seem sick, yes, but cursed? 

Suddenly through the gore, slender fingers brushed his own. Ichabod jerked his hand away as images flooded his mind. A stick broke, snow was falling on bright blood, Dedrick’s skull was in his hands. He was laughing.

When he came to, still letting out panicked laughter and clutching Dedrick’s hand with his own bloodied one, he was was surprised to find himself on the floor. Dedrick sat supporting his weight, allowing Ichabod to smear the tree’s blood all over him without complaint. Ichabod took a shaky breath, forgetting to release the Hessian’s hand. 

“There is someone--” He began to shake as he said, “There is someone in the tree.”


	8. Chapter 8

_ “There is someone—” He began to shake, “There is someone in the tree.” _

 

Dedrick had watched as Ichabod suddenly tore himself away from the opening in the tree and collapsed, laughing. The Hessian half-caught him, lowering the boy and curling him into his chest. Ichabod groped for his hand. Dedrick held it tight.

 

Ichabod clearly had magic, even if he refused to acknowledge it. Not even the Hessian had reactions like that to the tree. The boy felt things others couldn’t. 

 

With a hiccup, the laughter died down. The horseman noted that Ichabod still held his hand.

 

“What you mean, someone is in tree?”

 

“A hand. I felt a  _ hand. _ ” The boy was shaking. “And something happened. I do not-- It was--” He gripped the hand tighter. “I saw things.”

 

Dedrick brushed the sweaty hair from Ichabod’s face and inquired, as soothingly as he knew how, “What did you see,  Süßer*?”

 

Ichabod didn’t seem to notice the endearment, more focused on other things as he was. “There was blood on snow and… Twigs. I saw twigs.” Dedrick could tell there was something else Ichabod wasn’t telling him by the way the boy avoided his gaze.

 

“Magic.” Dedrick placed his free hand to Ichabod’s sternum, “You have magic in you.”

 

The boy was either unhappy with the prospect of magic or with Dedrick’s hand, his face white. “My mother was.” He seemed shocked by his own admission, eyes wide and lips parted. Tempting. 

 

Dedrick removed his hand from Ichabod’s chest and nodded. “And now you.” 

 

Ichabod looked down at their joined hands and tugged his free. “That is ridiculous.” 

 

“It is truth,” the Hessian shrugged. This was something that Ichabod would need to accept about himself if he was going to be of any help. “No more argue.”

 

Ichabod’s mouth snapped shut at the sharp words. 

 

\---

 

Dedrick was being almost sweet, up until Ichabod had argued that he wasn’t some sort of witch. He knew why the Hessian was so tactile now, what he wanted, and it made his stomach flip and his chest tight.

 

He felt his face grow hot and leaned away from Dedrick as subtly as possible. “Alright, I will not argue the point further.”  _ Right now. _

 

The Hessian stood and helped Ichabod up, unnecessarily taking both hands in his before pulling the man to his feet. Ichabod swayed and Dedrick steadied him. He felt hands on his hips and a chest at his back. He felt hot and cold. 

 

Ichabod didn’t know what to do. Dedrick clearly wasn’t giving up, practically  _ courting him. _

 

He took a step away from the ghost and turned, eyes averted. “You have my thanks.” 

 

Dedrick rolled his shoulders and stalked over the the hole in the wall without preamble, snatching up a hand axe as he went. “If someone in tree, I will find.” 

 

He slammed his axe into the wall, enlarging the hole and hacking his way deeper into the very guts of the tree, hacked away at the tree until Ichabod stopped him. 

 

He put a hand carefully in between the ghost’s shoulder blades. “Dedrick. Dedrick, stop.You are hurting it.” There was blood pooling around their feet, thick and red. Echos of pain rattled around his head. 

 

The horseman turned to face Ichabod, his gaze steely. “Someone in my tree and I will kill them.” He slammed his hand backward into the viscera, causing bright red blood to spatter outward. Ichabod felt drops hit his face. 

 

“Dedrick—” he began, ready to scold the ghost, when Dedrick placed one hand, now free of bloodied gloves to each side of his face. Ichabod’s throat could no longer make noise.

 

His face was clasped gently in between the Hessian’s hands.. “Ichabod Crane.” The pad of Dedrick’s touched his lip, “You will help kill the one who hurts my tree.” 

 

Ichabod swallowed and managed to speak, “Yes. Yes alright.” He agreed, ready to say yes to anything if Dedrick would get his hands off of his face. HIs hands were warm without the gloves, as warm as any mortal. That was the reason Ichabod felt so confused, there would be nothing else. 

 

\---

 

Ichabod took a step backward. “I— I should really take my leave, it is nearly morning.” 

 

It was a little over two hours until the morning, but Dedrick didn’t point that out. Instead he nodded and took Ichabod by the arm, guiding him through the portal. Just past its borders, they both stopped abruptly, Ichabod stumbling slightly. 

 

The child was standing directly in front of them, his face pale and eyes wide. The Hessian released his hold on Ichabod and began to slowly reach for his sword. Ichabod stepped in front of him, flailing his hands. “No, no! Stop!” He pushed uselessly at the ghost’s arm, which had halted its path as soon as Ichabod had blocked him. 

 

“Ah, p-pardon my intrusion. Sir, are you—” The child cut himself off, but his intention was clear. He was waiting to see if he should run, or perhaps even try to help Ichabod, if he was a fool. 

 

“He’s just a boy!” Ichabod, clearly terrified for the child, looked ready to fight Dedrick. He made a quick decision; the young boy was very loyal to have come here. He seemed trustworthy enough. The Hessian took his hand off of the pommel of his sword and Ichabod visibly relaxed. 

 

“Child is…” he didn’t know the word. “Good?” he finished 

 

Ichabod understood. “Yes. Yes! I trust young Masbath completely. he will not breath a word of this.”

 

“Not a word, sir,” the child Masbath added. 

 

Dedrick nodded to himself and gently pushed Ichabod out of his way. He let himself loom over Masbath. “You tell, you die.”

 

The child nodded, his throat working visibly as he swallowed. “Yes, sir. I don’t even know what I’m not telling, so I can’t tell it, I swear.” 

 

The ghost was satisfied with the response. It was true, Masbath did not know anything about the curse, and he would keep it that way. “Leave now, child.” 

 

He didn’t need to be told twice. The boy practically ran to his horse, but paused once he got there. He looked over his shoulder at Ichabod, his face worried. “Sir?”

 

“I am in no danger, I assure you.” The Hessian doubted Ichabod believed it, and he shouldn’t. Ichabod continued, “I will be along shortly.”

 

Masbath vanished into the woods but, much to Dedrick’s amusement, stayed just out of sight. The child was practically a man, and it would not be a hardship to take care of him if need be. He tried to avoid slaying children; it was pointless, anyway. A child cannot fight back, and killing something that helpless was no challenge.           

 

The tension slowly left Ichabod’s body as the boy left. “Thank you,” Ichabod told him as though Dedrick had given him a gift. 

 

“Go, Ichabod Crane, it is morning.” The ghost placed a hand on Ichabod’s shoulder. The light was beginning to creep over the tree line and he could feel a pull to his tree. He knew he had to return very soon. 

 

Ichabod nodded absently, still looking in the direction Masbath had left. “Yes, yes. I should find him.”

 

There was no time to see the man off, and he retreated back into the tree with a last look at Ichabod.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Endearment, literally “sweet” 
> 
> Sorry this is late, guys! I struggle with depression and I had a hard time writing. Which is also why this chapter is a bit short. Oops.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, guys! I struggle with depression and I had a hard time writing. Which is also why this chapter is a bit short. Oops.

_ “There is someone—” He began to shake, “There is someone in the tree.” _

 

Dedrick had watched as Ichabod suddenly tore himself away from the opening in the tree and collapsed, laughing. The Hessian half-caught him, lowering the boy and curling him into his chest. Ichabod groped for his hand. Dedrick held it tight.

 

Ichabod clearly had magic, even if he refused to acknowledge it. Not even the Hessian had reactions like that to the tree. The boy felt things others couldn’t. 

 

With a hiccup, the laughter died down. The horseman noted that Ichabod still held his hand.

 

“What you mean, someone is in tree?”

 

“A hand. I felt a  _ hand. _ ” The boy was shaking. “And something happened. I do not-- It was--” He gripped the hand tighter. “I saw things.”

 

Dedrick brushed the sweaty hair from Ichabod’s face and inquired, as soothingly as he knew how, “What did you see,  Süßer*?”

 

Ichabod didn’t seem to notice the endearment, more focused on other things as he was. “There was blood on snow and… Twigs. I saw twigs.” Dedrick could tell there was something else Ichabod wasn’t telling him by the way the boy avoided his gaze.

 

“Magic.” Dedrick placed his free hand to Ichabod’s sternum, “You have magic in you.”

 

The boy was either unhappy with the prospect of magic or with Dedrick’s hand, his face white. “My mother was.” He seemed shocked by his own admission, eyes wide and lips parted. Tempting. 

 

Dedrick removed his hand from Ichabod’s chest and nodded. “And now you.” 

 

Ichabod looked down at their joined hands and tugged his free. “That is ridiculous.” 

 

“It is truth,” the Hessian shrugged. This was something that Ichabod would need to accept about himself if he was going to be of any help. “No more argue.”

 

Ichabod’s mouth snapped shut at the sharp words. 

 

\---

 

Dedrick was being almost sweet, up until Ichabod had argued that he wasn’t some sort of witch. He knew why the Hessian was so tactile now, what he wanted, and it made his stomach flip and his chest tight.

 

He felt his face grow hot and leaned away from Dedrick as subtly as possible. “Alright, I will not argue the point further.”  _ Right now. _

 

The Hessian stood and helped Ichabod up, unnecessarily taking both hands in his before pulling the man to his feet. Ichabod swayed and Dedrick steadied him. He felt hands on his hips and a chest at his back. He felt hot and cold. 

 

Ichabod didn’t know what to do. Dedrick clearly wasn’t giving up, practically  _ courting him. _

 

He took a step away from the ghost and turned, eyes averted. “You have my thanks.” 

 

Dedrick rolled his shoulders and stalked over the the hole in the wall without preamble, snatching up a hand axe as he went. “If someone in tree, I will find.” 

 

He slammed his axe into the wall, enlarging the hole and hacking his way deeper into the very guts of the tree, hacked away at the tree until Ichabod stopped him. 

 

He put a hand carefully in between the ghost’s shoulder blades. “Dedrick. Dedrick, stop.You are hurting it.” There was blood pooling around their feet, thick and red. Echos of pain rattled around his head. 

 

The horseman turned to face Ichabod, his gaze steely. “Someone in my tree and I will kill them.” He slammed his hand backward into the viscera, causing bright red blood to spatter outward. Ichabod felt drops hit his face. 

 

“Dedrick—” he began, ready to scold the ghost, when Dedrick placed one hand, now free of bloodied gloves to each side of his face. Ichabod’s throat could no longer make noise.

 

His face was clasped gently in between the Hessian’s hands.. “Ichabod Crane.” The pad of Dedrick’s touched his lip, “You will help kill the one who hurts my tree.” 

 

Ichabod swallowed and managed to speak, “Yes. Yes alright.” He agreed, ready to say yes to anything if Dedrick would get his hands off of his face. HIs hands were warm without the gloves, as warm as any mortal. That was the reason Ichabod felt so confused, there would be nothing else. 

 

\---

 

Ichabod took a step backward. “I— I should really take my leave, it is nearly morning.” 

 

It was a little over two hours until the morning, but Dedrick didn’t point that out. Instead he nodded and took Ichabod by the arm, guiding him through the portal. Just past its borders, they both stopped abruptly, Ichabod stumbling slightly. 

 

The child was standing directly in front of them, his face pale and eyes wide. The Hessian released his hold on Ichabod and began to slowly reach for his sword. Ichabod stepped in front of him, flailing his hands. “No, no! Stop!” He pushed uselessly at the ghost’s arm, which had halted its path as soon as Ichabod had blocked him. 

 

“Ah, p-pardon my intrusion. Sir, are you—” The child cut himself off, but his intention was clear. He was waiting to see if he should run, or perhaps even try to help Ichabod, if he was a fool. 

 

“He’s just a boy!” Ichabod, clearly terrified for the child, looked ready to fight Dedrick. He made a quick decision; the young boy was very loyal to have come here. He seemed trustworthy enough. The Hessian took his hand off of the pommel of his sword and Ichabod visibly relaxed. 

 

“Child is…” he didn’t know the word. “Good?” he finished 

 

Ichabod understood. “Yes. Yes! I trust young Masbath completely. he will not breath a word of this.”

 

“Not a word, sir,” the child Masbath added. 

 

Dedrick nodded to himself and gently pushed Ichabod out of his way. He let himself loom over Masbath. “You tell, you die.”

 

The child nodded, his throat working visibly as he swallowed. “Yes, sir. I don’t even know what I’m not telling, so I can’t tell it, I swear.” 

 

The ghost was satisfied with the response. It was true, Masbath did not know anything about the curse, and he would keep it that way. “Leave now, child.” 

 

He didn’t need to be told twice. The boy practically ran to his horse, but paused once he got there. He looked over his shoulder at Ichabod, his face worried. “Sir?”

 

“I am in no danger, I assure you.” The Hessian doubted Ichabod believed it, and he shouldn’t. Ichabod continued, “I will be along shortly.”

 

Masbath vanished into the woods but, much to Dedrick’s amusement, stayed just out of sight. The child was practically a man, and it would not be a hardship to take care of him if need be. He tried to avoid slaying children; it was pointless, anyway. A child cannot fight back, and killing something that helpless was no challenge.           

 

The tension slowly left Ichabod’s body as the boy left. “Thank you,” Ichabod told him as though Dedrick had given him a gift. 

 

“Go, Ichabod Crane, it is morning.” The ghost placed a hand on Ichabod’s shoulder. The light was beginning to creep over the tree line and he could feel a pull to his tree. He knew he had to return very soon. 

 

Ichabod nodded absently, still looking in the direction Masbath had left. “Yes, yes. I should find him.”

 

There was no time to see the man off, and he retreated back into the tree with a last look at Ichabod.   

 

*Endearment, literally “sweet”  


	10. Chapter 10

It was the last night. The last night Ichabod would be alive because, oh, he had found _nothing_. He paced about his room, his breath coming short and fast. He wrung his hands and glanced out the small window that provided a view of the treeline. Or it would have if he didn’t have his lamp burning, the light obscuring the outside.  

He wondered if he should go out to the tree at all. There was no way he was going to solve this mystery on the last night. He supposed that he could go and plead for their lives…

No. He was going. He was going to that damn tree. He refused to simply roll over; he was going to do all he could to prevent the deaths of the innocent Katrina and young Masbath.

As well as himself.

He extinguished the lamp, steeling himself against the thought of his own impending demise, and happened to glance out of the window, only to have a perfect view of the Hessian sitting atop Daredevil at the treeline, motionless.

Perhaps he wasn’t going to get a chance to save himself after all, Ichabod realized with a tinge of hysteria.

Should he wake up Katrina and Masbath and try to run?

No, they’d never make it. The best course of action would be to ask for an extension. They were actually getting somewhere with the curse, or, at least Ichabod suspected they were.

The horseman beckoned.

With a final nervous glance at the window, Ichabod crept downstairs and out the servant’s door as quietly as possible. In his distraction he had forgotten his coat, he realised as he stepped out into the cool night air. No matter, he may be dead soon enough anyway, so there was no need to fret over some cold.

Dedrick held out a hand as he approached, which Ichabod took and allowed the man to assist him up into the saddle. The ride to the tree was a silent one, Ichabod too frightened to speak and Dedrick likely too busy planning his murder.

Once under the gray and brittle branches of the tree, the horseman was first to dismount. Ichabod was unsurprised when he was helped down from the ghostly horse. “Are you going to—” he started

“Ichabod—” Dedrick spoke over him. They both stopped before Dedrick started again. “Ichabod Crane, I do not kill you tonight.” He paused, “I do not want kill you. You keep helping me and I do not kill you, yes?”

Ichabod felt lightheaded as waves of relief washed over him. He wasn’t going to die tonight after all.

“Yes! Yes I’ll help you, still.”

The Hessian took a step forward. Ichabod’s back bumped into Daredevil’s side, who snorted and shook his back. “I do not want kill you. You understand? I want—” He immobilized Ichabod’s face in his hands, “I want you.”

 And for the first time in his life, Ichabod was being kissed. And he was being kissed by a man. A ghost. A ghost that he wasn’t entirely convinced wouldn’t kill him and— _oh._

 His body ran hot and cold as his mouth was licked open, and to his shock he made an involuntary sound. A very embarrassing soft keening sound, at that. As the shock faded, he found the strength to move again and pushed at Dedrick’s chest. “Sir—” he took a shuddery breath, still feeling something fluttering in the pit of his stomach, and he was sure his ears were bright red. “Sir, we cannot. You—”

And Masbath entered the clearing.

Ichabod’s eyes widened considerably. Had the boy seen?

Masbath led his horse further into the clearing, looking distinctly uncomfortable but not, Ichabod suspected, as much as he would if he had just witnessed the man kissing a ghost. Being kissed _by_ a ghost.

“You were gone but your horse was still in the stable. I just wanted to make sure you were… alright.” He shot a curious look in the horseman’s direction. “Are you alright, sir?”

Ichabod cleared his throat and wiggled out from under Dedrick. “Yes, yes I am fine. We were just about to enter the tree.” Something dawned on him. “You may provide assistance, if you wish, I’m—”         

“No.” The horseman said, voice flat.

Ichabod had himself angled behind Masbath. “Dedrick—” the constable caught himself, sputtering to a brief stop. “Sir. Young Masbath is completely trustworthy.”

“No,” came the reply.

 “He has been useful to me before,” Ichabod protested as he hid halfway behind the boy, away from the Hessian’s stoney glare.

Masbath would provide a great distraction.

 

\---

 

It was difficult not to kill the boy. He might have considered it if it would not appall  Ichabod, but as it was he had to tolerate the interruption. Dedrick gnashed his teeth. 

He was certain with a bit more insistence he would have the man. He had pressed himself against Dedrick as he had kissed him, even if it was for a second. And, oh, the noise he had made…

And now this child was here in his clearing, intruding on something he would never admit that he had thought about for the entire day.

Not that he had much else to occupy his time, being trapped in a tree for the entirety of the day as he was.

“I’m very useful, sir, I swear it,” Masbath added.

The child was brave, at least. “He may stay for one hour,” he told Ichabod, not looking away from the boy. “We will see how useful he is.”

“Your English is getting better.” Ichabod told him suddenly, making Dedrick strangely proud. “I mean, sorry, I just—” It seemed Ichabod hadn’t meant to say that outloud.

“Thank you.” Dedrick told him, gruff. He beckoned the two over as the tree began to open, blossoming inward to expose a sticky mess of gore with a tunnel in its center. Dedrick delighted in Masbath’s half-horrified, half-fascinated expression.  

He pushed the child forward, “Go,” he commanded.

Masbath led the way through the portal, slow enough that Dedrick delighted in the boy’s fear.

Other than making Ichabod happy, frightening this child was the only reason he was allowed into his tree. He doubted the child would be helpful at all. 

Once inside the child looked around, eyes wide. “It’s big,” Masbath commented.

“Fascinating, isn’t it, young Masbath. It’s much larger on the inside, but I also suspect that the portal does not actually lead into the tree as much as it does a spiritual realm, and—”

Dedrick cut off the impending lecture, “One. Hour,” he reminded.

“Of course. Then let us get to it, shall we?” Ichabod gestured to the wall. “The only times we have had an success has been when we have cut open the tree, and so I propose we do so again, but in a larger—” he spread his arms, “scale. So that I can truly look inside and—” He sputtered to a stop as Dedrick stepped close and put a hand on the hollow of his back, uncaring about Masbath’s presence.

“Masbath!” The man exclaimed suddenly, moving away, “Will you please help Dedrick—the horseman—open up the tree?”

 

\---

 

Ichabod walked over to the small stash of weapons by the fireplace and retrieved one of the two handaxes. “I suppose a hole as large as a man should be more than sufficient.” He handed the axe to Masbath, carefully keeping the boy between himself and Dedrick.  

Masbath glanced over at the Hessian and didn’t move. Dedrick grunted and pushed him out of his way, “Where you want?”

Ichabod looked around the room before he gestured to the space behind Masbath. Something about that spot felt right somehow.

The axe struck the wall with a thunk, sending a droplets of blood flying. Masbath clutched the axe in his hands, frozen as he watched. Ichabod had to admit that it was impressive, Dedrick was all muscle; it was evident even under his dark armor. Ichabod tore his eyes away from how the Hessian’s arms looked as they worked—which was causing that incomprehensible fluttering in his gut again. Ichabod swallowed.

Dedrick made quick work of it. A hole the size of a small doorway appeared alarmingly fast, reminding the constable of the power Dedrick held.

The horseman took hold of the edges of the section he had cut free, lifting it back and away.

Exposing a figure. 

The trio stared wordlessly at the lifeless form of the Lady Van Tassel, who didn’t seem to have gone to Hell after all. She was nude and partially decayed. Her skin had turned mottled and a yellowy brown. She was held upright by thin and veiny roots, which emerged from under her paper-thin skin and curled around the tree’s innards. A few larger, stiffer roots burst forth from her ribcage, one  having grown over her shoulder and firmly into in the tree’s viscera next to her disheveled blonde hair.  

Ichabod couldn’t look away from the dead woman’s unseeing eyes, as he had a horrible realization. “A parasite,” he breathed, “She is a parasite.” He paused, “Of course, this is pure conjecture, but I imagine she is growing a tree of her own.” He glanced back at Dedrick, “She seems to be using your tree as a host, likely killing it in the process.”

Because, he realized, the tree was truly alive, made evident by all the blasted organs and flowing blood he constantly had to sift through.     

The Hessian reached, wrapped a hand around one of the larger roots, and pulled. It began sliding out from under her breasts with a wet tearing sound. Ichabod shuddered.

And then the dead woman’s hand tightly gripped Dedrick’s, who jerked his own back and away. Lady Van Tassel’s loose skin was pulled free as she attempted to hold on, slipping from her hand like a glove. Ichabod backed up as it hit the floor, unable to comprehend seeing her exposed ligaments working to jerk the muscles of her hand frantically toward Dedrick.

Her heavy, bloated tongue rolled in her mouth, a vile yellow liquid boiling over her teeth and down her chin. “ _You_ ,” she rasped, her voice dry and cracking.

She hissed and grabbed at the Hessian, managing to wrap her hands around his throat. She didn’t squeeze, but Dedrick jolted anyway, the edges of him seeming to unfray and blurr. And then he was falling, taking the woman with him.

Ichabod lept into action as the witch landed heavily onto the Hessian, who was already seeming more insubstantial by the second. He practically yanked the hand axe from a frozen Masbath. Perhaps he had been wrong, The horseman had no life force to leech from. _Magic,_ Ichabod realized.

And Dedrick was made of something like magic.

And luckily Ichabod had none.

He swung the ax, glancing Lady Van Tassel’s shoulder, slicing into muscle and catching on the bone there. The axe fell free of her as she turned to face him and Ichabod fumbled, dropping it. “ _You will do.”_  

There was a pulling sensation and his thoughts went fuzzy and half formed. He was on the floor suddenly, shaking as something vital was being torn forcibly from him. And, oh, how it _hurt._

 

\--

 

Dedrick watched Ichabod hit the ground. He felt drunk, his thoughts running together in a blur. Dedrick was just managing to push himself upright when the child Masbath brought a fire poker down onto the witch’s skull, leaving a dent which oozed black, putrefied brain. 

The dead woman didn’t react at all, keeping all her focus on Ichabod, who seemed barely conscious. Her withered hands gripping tight onto his shoulders as she leaned close.

One agonizing minute later, Dedrick had managed to get to his feet and grabbed a fistfull of Lady Van Tassel’s long hair, twisting his hand near the scalp and pulled, causing her head to jerk back before the hair and a portion of scalp was torn free. He was going to distract her from Ichabod even if it meant ceasing to exist completely.

The witch turned again, switching her focus to Dedrick. She took her hands off Ichabod and moved toward the ghost.

And Ichabod slurred out a “no!” before grabbing onto one of Lady Van Tassel’s arms, yanking it backward, dislocating it at the shoulder. He held on as she swung her head around, bearing a grin. Dedrick watched Ichabod become very still, and very quiet. He had taken his sword out as soon as the boy touched her, and he swung, taking off the dead woman’s head.

 

\--

 

Ichabod pried his eyes open, vision blurry. He was lying on something firm yet comfortable, and there was a hand in his hair. He murmured and attempted to sit, blinking. He was half-lying on Dedrick’s lap and felt better than he had in a very long time. Although confused and foggy-brained. “What happened?”

Dedrick helped him sit and kept a hand on his back. The horseman shrugged a shoulder. “I took off her head,” he told Ichabod, not meeting his eyes.

There was a decapitated body in the center of the room that Ichabod was careful not to look to closely at, it was true. Young Masbath hovered above them, vibrating with nervous energy. 

“Sir, you— Sir— I mean, that is— Sir.” The boy looked around the room, anywhere that Ichabod was not.

Dedrick frowned, finally meeting Ichabod’s eyes with his own. “You were not breathing.”

“Oh.” Ichabod said, now aware of how close he had been to death. It was a very stupid thing he had done, letting the witch take his… _magic_ to give Dedrick a chance to stop her, even at his own expense. He supposed he took more after his mother then he had thought.

“You were not breathing for a very long time.”

_Oh._

“How long?”

 “Long enough. I am sorry.” The hand on his back moved in a slow circle.

Ichabod swayed. “Oh.” He _should_ feel like vomiting, but he couldn’t seem to muster up any nausea. He supposed that explained the way he was feeling, finally free of minor aches and pains that he had become accustomed to and subsequently ignored.  

This wasn’t at all what he expected death to be like.

“But no, I’m still—” There was a figure behind Masbath, lying prone next to the witch. Ichabod clicked his mouth shut.

He felt numb as he looked at his own dead body. He turned to look at Dedrick, his head full of white noise. “Am I a ghost? I must be a ghost, to be here. Oh Lord— I am a ghost.” The reality of it all slammed into him. He began to panic.

Dedrick slid a hand down his waist and pulled him closer. Ichabod pressed into the steadying presence unconsciously. The Hessian spoke, “I am sorry. But it is not so bad, being dead. I will help you while you get accustomed.”

Ichabod stared at him. “You just said ‘accustomed.’”

“He’s speaking in German, sir. I can’t make heads or tales of what he’s saying, but you seem to well enough,” young Masbath chimed in.

Ichabod stilled, looking to Dedrick, “He is speaking English.”

“I will help you get accustomed,” the Hessian repeated, the words German, with English bleeding over them in his mind. He could understand Dedrick perfectly.  

“Get accustomed to being dead. I am dead.” He felt dizzy, yet didn’t faint. He wasn’t sure he was even capable any longer.

“What— What should I tell Lady Katrina, sir?” Masbath interrupted, eyes wide and a tad watery. He blinked furiously a few times.

“Oh.”

All Ichabod could say lately was ‘oh.’.

“I suppose, tell her— tell her the truth.” He sagged into Dedrick’s side, “Tell her to move away from Sleepy Hollow. Her neighbors will not be so friendly here. You will both be happier elsewhere.”

“But sir—”

“I can’t have you hanging about for my sake. I will be here for a very long time.” He swallowed and glanced again at his own body. He could feel panic bubbling up inside him but having a breakdown in front of both Masbath and Dedrick was the last thing he wanted.

  
The last thing he wanted besides being dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops I accidentally deleted all the comments of the last chapter in a horrible chapter deletion disaster.
> 
> But thank you guys for all your support!


	11. Chapter 11

Despite what he may have said earlier, Dedrick wasn’t sorry that this had happened. Having Ichabod here would make the afterlife much less maddening. He’d prefer the man to stay with him by choice, but this was a gift in its own way. Now he had a companion in death, someone who would stay, someone who would never age and pass away, slipping off to wherever souls go at the end. He wasn’t certain why Ichabod hadn’t become one of those souls that crossed over, instead remaining here as a ghost, but he didn’t much care. This outcome was much better than any he had imagined.

Ichabod seemed on the verge of true panic, his breathing growing short and fast. Dedrick desperately wanted to remove the child Masbath but beckoned the boy closer for Ichabod’s sake. “You,” Dedrick spoke in English, “say goodbye before the sun coming up. You must go soon.”

Ichabod had been deceased for quite some time before his spirit appeared. It had taken Dedrick an embarrassing amount of time to get his strength back while Masbath had clung to the dead man and shook him, begging him to wake. Then the child had started crying and Dedrick had felt some pity for him and allowed him stay.

And then the ghost of Ichabod Crane had slowly pieced itself into existence.

Masbath sniffed, “I will miss you, sir. I’m very sorry you’re dead now and all. I promise I’ll come back soon to see you.”

“Masbath—” Ichabod began.

“I get to come visit, don’t I? I mean we, me and Lady Katrina.”

“Of course you do, that would please me very much.”

Dedrick frowned in displeasure.

Ichabod stood shakily and put a cautious hand on the child’s shoulder, “Go now and comfort Katrina. She will be waking soon and someone should be there to tell her what has happened.”

Masbath sniffled and threw his arms around Ichabod’s waist in a desperate hug. “Goodbye, sir.”

The Hessian made his way over to the decapitated body of the late Lady Van Tassel and reached down, grabbing her head and handing it to Masbath, who stared at him, clearly horrified by the gift. He grabbed the woman by the legs and began dragging her to the entrance to the portal, which opened as he neared. “Come, bury bodies first.”  

Dedrick escorted Masbath through the portal, dropping the body at the entrance before going back it to fetch the body of Ichabod, which he lifted carefully into his arms with a glance toward Ichabod. Ichabod looked away.

He took the body outside and lay it gently down in the ground. “Bury them, do not take Ichabod to church. He will be dead, not ghost.” He pointed to the body. “I go to see Ichabod.” He didn’t actually mean that he’d be helping the child bury the witch; he didn’t want to leave Ichabod alone for more time than strictly necessary. Without another word, he turned and left Masbath gaping.

He returned to Ichabod, who gave him a confused expression, “I thought you were burying them? Us?”

“I did not say _ I  _ was.” He smiled.

 

\---

 

Ichabod laughed a tad hysterically. “I suppose not.”

He quieted. “I am dead. I am actually dead.” It all hit him then, and he crumpled to the floor. He stared at the boots in front of him. “I think I knew I might die,” he admitted quietly. The boots blurred

He heard Dedrick crouch down next to him. A hand touched his, which was positioned on his lap. “It is not so bad, you will see.”

One, then two tears fell onto their hands. He took a shaky breath. “I am glad that you are here. I would not want to be alone.”

Arms drew him forward into a hug and Dedrick’s hand was in his hair, “Quiet now, I will look after you.”

He began crying in earnest, pressing his face into the Hessian’s chest. Dedrick held him through it, petting his hair as he murmured reassurances. It was bizarre; this is something he never thought the Hessian would even be capable of. He huffed out a laugh. “You are good at this, very comforting,” he told him, intending to tease just a tad.

Dedrick dropped a kiss into his hair, causing Ichabod to still. That was not the expected reaction.

His face was lifted and tears brushed away. “Ichabod,” the Hessian began, “you cannot go to Hell now that you are here with me. You do not have to stop yourself any longer,” he was told before lips were pressed to his. Ichabod felt the kiss down to his toes.

Hell was not truly what he had been afraid of, but why did he object so strongly? Surely it was for moral reasons—but he was dead now, what should he care about those?

It just wasn’t right.

But it felt so nice, he realised with a jolt. He didn’t push the ghost away, but he didn’t reciprocate either. Dedrick pulled away and ran his hand down to Ichabod’s lower back. “I want you, Ichabod Crane. And I will have you. I will make you feel much better than any woman has.”

“I have never been with a woman,” Ichabod replied, unthinking.

The Hessian stilled, fixing him with an unreadable expression. “You are untouched?”

“Of course! I am not married, and I am not the type of man to, to—”

He was interrupted by a desperate kiss, Dedrick’s hand moving to firmly clasp the back of Ichabod’s neck, holding him still.

Ichabod opened his mouth in surprise, which the horseman took full advantage of. That feeling was back, the hot and cold rush of electricity buzzing through him. He gasped into the kiss, and made a small sound, not realizing for some time that his mouth had started moving, clumsily kissing Dedrick back. He tore his mouth away, intending to putting a stop to things when Dedrick changed his focus to the side of Ichabod’s neck, causing Ichabod to freeze, his lips parted. Dedrick’s teeth, although filed, were not actually as sharp as expected, which made the brutality of the ghost’s bloody kiss with Lady Van Tassel even more brutal...

He was quickly distracted from that thought as the Hessian scraped those teeth over his neck pleasurably. He moved his hands to the Hessian’s chest, unsure if he intended to grab hold or push the man away. His hands decided for him and he held on, breathing in short gasps. The hot and cold feeling was gone, now replaced with pure fire running through him. There was a an electric buzzing growing in his groin and he let out a startled “oh.”

Suddenly he was on his back, the horseman above him. “I don’t know what to do,” Ichabod admitted.

“I will show you.” The Hessian made fast work of the man’s pants and boots, not bothering with the shirt. That wasn’t quite what Ichabod had meant, but he supposed that was true as well, he wouldn’t know what to do in a situation like this.

He didn’t ever expect himself to be in such a situation.

“I do not know how to—” He sputtered to a stop as his underwear was pulled down and removed as well. He covered himself with his hands.

“I will show you,” Dedrick repeated, sliding a hand up the man’s leg and gently prying Ichabod’s hands away. He was nearing full hardness, much to his own surprise.

There was a head between his legs then, and Ichabod nearly shot upright at the thought of having those teeth anywhere near his manhood. Not to mention,  he realized hysterically , the last time he had a man’s head in that vicinity it had been the decapitated head of  Magistrate Philipse.

And then a tongue touched his member, and he was jolting in surprised pleasure.

 

\---

 

Dedrick glance up at the shocked face of Ichabod and grinned. Ichabod’s gaze moved nervously to the Hessian’s teeth. “Do not worry, I will not bite.”

He turned his attention back to the prize at hand and ran his tongue up the shaft from root to tip, watching Ichabod’s bite his lip and squirm.

“What are you doing?” the constable asked, voice breathy.

Dedrick ignored him and moved lower between his thighs, pulling the man’s hips upward. He set his lips to Ichabod’s entrance and licked.

“ _ What are you doing? _ ” Ichabod cried out, attempting to squirm away.

The Hessian held him fast, “I am making you feel good,” he explained, pressing his tongue forward again before gently nipping at  the man’s rim, listening to the resulting yelp.

The Hessian was not one to waste time.

Before things progressed further, he would need to fetch the oil on the other side of the room. Dedrick was reluctant to leave Ichabod, fearing that he would change his mind if left untouched. And so he would drive the man mad first, until he would beg Dedrick to return.

He hiked the man’s rear higher, nosing at Ichabod’s balls before returning to the task at hand. He had begun pressing his tongue into Ichabod’s hole when the man above him moaned out, “Oh God, no, no stop.”

With one final filthy kiss, the Hessian pulled back, keeping Ichabod’s hips off the ground. “Yes?”

“I need— too much. What are you— Oh God.”

Dedrick shushed him and ran his fingers gently over the boy’s length. “Shh, I will take care of you. Relax, it is all right.” He moved forward, taking the head into his mouth, careful of his teeth, and sucked.

Ichabod shouted, face and chest flushed pink. His fair skin would have held bruises very prettily, but Dedrick knew that unfortunately that would not longer be possible, with the man dead.

Dedrick pulled his lips over the points of his teeth and sunk down as far as he could go, wrapping his hand around what he couldn’t take. Ichabod threw an arm across his face and shook.

Worried that the man would come too soon, he removed his mouth, keeping the man’s member in hand. “Go to the bed, I will be there in a moment.” He pumped his hand one more time before letting go and helped Ichabod stand on shaky legs.

Once Dedrick had the oil he had procured for just this purpose, he turned to find Ichabod standing by the mound of furs, looking unsure.

The Hessian crossed the room, removing armor and clothing as he went. “Lie down.”

Looking dazed, Ichabod obeyed, staring with bright eyes as Dedrick finally approached, nude with a vial in his hand. He placed it on the floor next to them and bent down to kiss Ichabod, uncaring where his mouth had just been.

Ichabod seemed to remember, for he made a muffled displeased noise before Dedrick bit gently at his lower lip to quiet him. He licked at the inside of Ichabod’s mouth, coaxing the man to join in the kiss. The man was clumsy at it, and cautious, but he was growing more and more enthusiastic as Dedrick slid his hand lower down the man’s chest. “It will be easier on your stomach,” Dedrick told him.

“What will?” Ichabod asked before squawking as he was suddenly flipped over.

 

\---

 

Ichabod was pulled onto his knees, his shoulders pressed down to the furs with one strong hand, letting him know how Dedrick wanted him placed.

That hand moved and he was being parted. A slick finger circled his entrance. “Wait!” he cried out, “tell me what exactly you mean to do!”

Dedrick huffed out a laugh behind him. “I am going to fuck you.”

Ichabod choked at both the idea and vulgarity of that sentence. “I am not a woman, if you haven’t noticed.”

“I am going to fuck you here.” A finger pressed forward, the tip sinking into him. Ichabod choked again.

“But that’s not— Ah!” The finger moved in a slow circle.

“Shh, you will see. I will make you feel better then you have ever felt.”

Ichabod didn’t mention that this already was better than he had ever felt on the rare occasions he had touched himself. The idea of Dedrick inside him set a fire in the pit of his stomach and he burned at the thought of it. The prospect was terrifying and yet a large part of him wanted it. “But how—” He asked.

The finger slid all the way inside him.

Ichabod pressed his face into his arms and breathed hard and fast as felt himself open around the finger. The Hessian rubbed his flank with his free hand and gently and minutely rocked his finger back and forth. It was slowly retracted before sliding in again, causing Ichabod to moan quietly. A second finger was carefully added. Ichabod shifted and murmured in slight discomfort. His murmur sputtered to a stop before turning into a startled yelp as those fingers were pressed into something electric inside of him. He panted.

“You see? Good.” Dedrick pressed that spot again and Ichabod keened.

“Oh please—” Ichabod didn’t know what he was asking for, but another finger was delivered.

He didn’t know that he could be stretched this far, never thought about being stretched  _ at all _ , actually. And now here he was, face down on the floor with another man’s fingers deep inside him.

The fingers withdrew and something much thicker was pressed against his entrance. Ichabod panicked as he slowly opened up to allow Dedrick inside. It was too much. He was about to plead with Dedrick to stop when he suddenly realized that the ghost was completely seated inside of him.

Ichabod sucked in a breath and Dedrick stilled, waiting for Ichabod to adjust. It didn’t hurt—Ichabod wondered if he even could feel pain now—but it was so  _ much. _ The Hessian felt huge inside of him. And he  _ was _ adjusting, Ichabod realized in surprise. He hadn’t really believed this would be at all a pleasurable experience but,  _ oh. _

He shifted, experimentally flexing.

 

\---

 

The Hessian felt Ichabod tighten around him and let out a low groan. He couldn’t wait any longer. He began rocking back and forth, carefully watching Ichabod’s reactions before growing in speed.

Ichabod shook underneath him. Dedrick watched Ichabod fist the sheets and moan into the furs with satisfaction. Ichabod was his now, and he would take the man apart over and over again. “Beautiful,” he told him.  

He could feel himself getting close; it had been far too long. He reached underneath Ichabod and wrapped a hand around the man’s member, tugging. The boy babbled something and began to blindly thrust into Dedrick’s hand before spilling himself with a shout.

The man went limp as Dedrick fucked him through his orgasm, keeping his hips held upward in a tight grip. He grunted as he felt Ichabod’s walls flutter and clench down around him, coming hard inside the man as he bit down on the back of his neck, causing the man to yelp.

He collapsed to the side of Ichabod. “I told you I would make you feel very, very good.”

Ichabod didn’t answer him, too busy staring upward and panting.

Dedrick huffed out a laugh and pulled Ichabod to him, pressing him against his chest. He pressed a kiss into the man’s hair. “You are mine, Ichabod.”

Ichabod mumbled in protest, clearly ready to fall asleep. “I am my own, thank you.”

“Yes, and mine.” The hessian grinned at him.

Ichabod yawned. “Do we sleep?”

“If you like.”

Ichabod awoke a few hours later, still held to Dedrick’s chest. “We laid together,”

Dedrick laughed, deep. “Yes.”

“I am dead, we laid together, and I am a ghost.”

Dedrick laughed again, “Yes,” he repeated. “And I will lie with you again, and again, and again.” He punctuated each word with a kiss down Ichabod’s chest as he undid the man’s buttons.

“Now?” Ichabod asked, astonished.

“If you like.”

Ichabod bit his lip. “I would.”

The Hessian grinned.

 

\---

Some time later Ichabod was cleaning the bloody mess they had left on the floor, wiping up the drying blood with rags. “Where do you get these things?” he wondered aloud.

Dedrick looked up from where he was sharpening his sword, “The town.”

Ichabod almost laughed at the idea of the fearsome Headless Horseman creeping into a house and stealing rags.

“I don’t know why you’re doing that. The tree will absorb the blood,” Dedrick remarked.

That stopped Ichabod in his tracks. “Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“I like the view,” the Hessian grinned at Ichabod’s backside.

Ichabod stood, mouth agape. “So you let me clean the entire floor?”

“Yes,” came the simple reply.

Ichabod sighed. “Well, now that we have hundreds of years ahead of us I suppose there was nothing better to do.”

The Hessian stood. “there is always something better to do than that,” he grinned wolfishly and approached.

“ _ Again? _ ” Ichabod sputtered in disbelief as Dedrick leaned in to kiss him.

“And again,” came the reply.


	12. Epilogue

It was the anniversary.

Katrina steered her white mare through the Western Wood, heading for the Tree of the Dead. She and Masbeth hadn’t left the town as Ichabod had suggested, instead staying near what they knew. The townsfolk were still stilted and a bit cold around her, but the two of them made do. She made great pains to hide her witchcraft now, and things were getting better for them. She had only come once to the tree at night, feeling Ichabod’s presence but not seeing him, perhaps his way of telling her to leave the town.

She halted in front of the tree, branches now covered in green leaves, and dismounted her horse. She placed a bouquet of white lilies against the trunk and straightened, looking upward to the bows of fresh, green leaves. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to; Ichabod would know why she was here.

 

\---

 

The Hessian woke, slumber during the day now part of his daily ritual thanks to Ichabod, who would complain if forced to sleep alone. At first he thought it ridiculous, sleeping while dead, but he had become so accustomed that he almost felt tired if he missed their sleep.

The white witch was here, he realized, shifting Ichabod closer to his chest. Ichabod grumbled before falling deeper asleep, oblivious to Katrina’s presence. Ichabod would scold Dedrick for not waking him, but he still didn’t trust the witch. Masbath he would tolerate, as the boy had snuck out several times in the night to talk to Ichabod.

After the witch had left, he kissed Ichabod awake, ignoring the annoyed noise and hand slapping at his chest. “I was sleeping,” Ichabod protested.

“And now you are not,” Dedrick pointed out, moving his kisses down the side of Ichabod’s neck. He could almost thank the Lady VanTassel, for bringing him Ichabod. He glanced over at the large scar nearly covering one wall. It was worth it, to have him.

Ichabod sighed, either in annoyance or pleasure, the horseman couldn’t be sure. Perhaps both. “And I suppose you have a very good reason to do so.”

“Yes,” Dedrick slid his hand up the man’s thigh, causing Ichabod to spread his legs with a pleased exhale, “I do.”

  
THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for sticking around! You're all awesome. 
> 
> I don't want to be done with these guys! Maybe I'll write a oneshot or two~

**Author's Note:**

> Ich verstehe nur ein bisschen Deutsch und ich sprechen nicht sehr gut. So if I mangle any German please let me know!


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